


But I Have Promises to Keep

by Polyhymnia_62



Series: Amid the Rubble [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: "End of Time" Ten becomes the Metacrisis Doctor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-It: s04e13 Journey's End, Episode Fix-It: s04e17-18 The End of Time, F/M, Pete's World Torchwood, Poetry, Post-Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Reunion Fic, Reunions, The Doctor confronts his emotional baggage instead of regenerating, non-linear elements, not a poetry-fic, sorry Donna's fate is still pretty tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 74,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhymnia_62/pseuds/Polyhymnia_62
Summary: After sending Gallifrey and the Time Lords back into the Time War, a near-broken Doctor makes one last visit to Donna and Rose before regenerating. In an act of mercy, the TARDIS sends the Tenth Doctor's consciousness back in time and into the Metacrisis Doctor's body. Meanwhile, Rose has been fighting her way back to a universe that's falling apart. After undergoing so much, they will need to face who they’ve become in each other’s absense and what that means for their relationships.Complete
Relationships: Jackie Tyler/Pete Tyler (Pete's World), Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Amid the Rubble [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067477
Comments: 118
Kudos: 68





	1. And miles to go before I sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [But the Story Never Ends](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/636772) by WhoMe-2. 



> I read [this](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6661832/7/But-the-Story-Never-Ends) lovely Rose/Ten story, and the premise intrigued me. What if the Tenth Doctor's consciousness ended up in the Metacrisis Doctor's body? I've always felt that events of The End of Time were incredibly traumatic but mostly swept under the regeneration rug, so I wanted to write my own take on that premise. How does the Doctor deal with losing Gallifrey and condemning his people again? The first few chapters will follow the events of The End of Time Part Two, then we'll switch to Rose's POV pre-Journey's end, then end up back at Bad Wolf Bay. We'll move on from there in part two.

* * *

It’s not the wedding bells he remembers, or the way she looks in her dress, but the sheer joy bubbling up in her voice, so different from the first time he saw her. Standing there (on the worst day yet of this new life), downright offended to find herself in his too-empty home, she had seemed like she’d never had a misgiving in her life. It _is_ different, though, the dress. Too many bad memories with the first one, he suspects, even accounting for the sleights she can’t remember anymore.

But her eyes, and that laugh—it’s like she’s fought off the whole world and it’s finally started laughing with her instead of at her.

Oh, Donna.

There’s a sharp stab of pain in his chest that has nothing to do with the wedding of an old friend. _You can’t have more than half an hour left_ , says a nagging voice at the back of his head—an unwelcome reminder that he unceremoniously squashes underfoot and shoves into some dark corner of his mind. _I’ve still got time._ Enough time to give a gift that isn’t grudging or tainted with old mistakes.

“And here you are, eh? Same old face.” Wilf and Sylvia have left the main party and approached the gazebo he’s standing under. There’s a fondness in Wilf’s face to match Donna’s joy. Good old Wilf. By all rights, he should be colder, angrier, and yet he still treats the Doctor as if he’s an old friend. Trusts him, even. As if just an hour or so ago the Doctor wasn’t willing to let him die in a room full of shattered glass as penance for a moment’s blind kindness.

“Didn't I tell you you'd be all right?” Wilf’s grinning. He doesn’t know the half of it, but now’s not the time to dwell on it. He keeps on talking, something about Mister Naismith and the whole fiasco. _If only more people were more like Wilf and less like the Naismiths._ The universe never seemed to lack power-hungry fools, even after it’d lost an entire race of them—

Enough of that. No use dwelling on that stuffy old planet when there’s worlds in the sky because of that marvelous woman standing just a dozen meters away.

“I just wanted to give you this. Wedding present,” the Doctor says, reaching into his coat for the ticket. “Thing is, I never carry money, so I just popped back in time, borrowed a quid off a really lovely man.” He draws a breath and almost loses his nerve—on second thought, what he did sounds almost presumptuous, even invasive coming from him. He’d thought—well, he’d seen how much Rose’s father meant to her, and even if he couldn’t risk that situation all over again, he thought maybe it could serve as an apology of sorts—but what right does he have to any of their loved ones? _An ordinary man. That's the most important thing in creation._ He said those words once to Rose, and meant them too, so he steels himself and soldiers on.

“Geoffrey Noble, his name was. Have it, he said. Have that on me.” A tribute to the man’s generosity. The look in Sylvia’s eyes tells him it was the right choice. Wilf just looks at him, thanking him. One less weight on his chest. If he’s learned anything this time round, it’s that people like Donna aren’t just born, but raised, and by imperfect, wonderful people. Heavens knows where he’d be without them—dead, lost, lordly and forcing the universe to bend to him for once in his too-long life.

They take their leave and then they’re off, off to pass off his anonymous present as if it’s just rubbish in an envelope, no note, no sender. Like everything about their relationship now, it’s stuffed with things he can’t say and apologies she won’t be able to hear.

He’s not close enough to hear them, not with the blood roaring in his ears as he tries to stave off the inevitable. His head is splitting. It occurs to him that half the party’s going to be sleeping off a headache like this one come morning, and he almost quirks a grin. It slips into a grimace as another wave of pain crashes into him and he squeezes his eyes shut to brace himself. _You know, this would be a lot easier if you just let go._ He knows that, but he’s not ready. Not yet.

He realizes he’s so caught up in himself that he might miss it. His eyes blink open, and for a wild moment the crowd is just a blur of peach and brown. There, there’s the white dress. He looks up through the fog and he can’t quite make out her eyes. But he can see her laugh, and in that moment, it’s enough. Donna redirects her brimming energy and she’s off, towards church and Shaun Temple, off towards a grand new adventure, and he pretends this is everything he had ever hoped for her.

(It’s hard to pretend when Wilf turns back to him). Sylvia’s smiling like she’s just met Father Christmas, but Wilf’s holding himself stoic. He raises his hand in a salute and the Doctor wants to snarl and spit. _Rassilon, Wilf. I don’t deserve your regard._ He clenches his jaw against his own revulsion. He is _not_ going to lash out at Wilf, who’s never showed him anything but trust, forgiveness. Not today. No matter how _little_ he deserves it, he is _not_ going to disrespect Wilf for so sincere a tribute. He can’t muster up more than a nod to that wonderful, wonderful man’s esteem before he turns away, ashamed. Somehow, over the pounding in his head and the roaring in his ears, he can hear Donna’s laugh.

* * *

_Whose woods these are I think I know._   
_His house is in the village though;_   
_He will not see me stopping here_   
_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_My little horse must think it queer_   
_To stop without a farmhouse near_   
_Between the woods and frozen lake_   
_The darkest evening of the year._

_He gives his harness bells a shake_   
_To ask if there is some mistake._   
_The only other sound's the sweep_   
_Of easy wind and downy flake._

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep._   
_But I have promises to keep,_   
_And miles to go before I sleep,_   
_And miles to go before I sleep._

"Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening"

Robert Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's kinda cliche to use poems, and my poetry repertoire is mostly composed of poems I read in high school English. Oh well. I couldn't resist. I tried to put it at the end so you could avoid it if you wanted. This is my first fic, so please let me know what you think! Love it? Hate it? Think it's incredibly melodramatic? Let me know!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. Who fall, and none observe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to run with a Tuesday updating schedule, but here's a Monday update for fun! 8 chapters is a tentative length; it may take longer than that to tell this story.

* * *

He’s grateful for the railings as he stumbles in the doors. It’s hard to keep upright without an audience and duty. _"Wouldn’t she make you laugh again? Good old Donna."_ He does laugh now, feels the laughter break over him, but it’s bitter and mocking. Utterly mirthless. It feels good though, a counterpoint to hold back the restless energy shaking his bones. He wants to keep going, but his eyes are burning at the corners and he remembers someone else who laughs (laughed) like this. The thought makes his stomach come up into his throat, and suddenly the floor looks much more inviting than standing does. He drops into a crouch and eases himself against the doorway. Knees to his chin, arms around his legs. _Breathe. That’s the end of it_. No one left to make trouble but him. The burning in his eyes threatens to leak out, and he lays his head down on his knees and squeezes his eyes shut.

…

 _Even with his eyes closed, he had been able to tell he wasn’t in the console room_ —he wasn’t in his own room, wasn’t in the library, and wasn’t in the medical bay, either. For the first time in a year, he was in the TARDIS. He wasn't on public display and was curled up in what amounted to a cleaning closet—seemed odd when he thought about it, what with how nicely the TARDIS cleaned herself up. Yet—there he was. She had a fleet of empty rooms, a labyrinth of echoing corridors, and a looming, cavernous console room to offer, and in all of that space there was one small, overlooked supply closet. He—he didn’t know…he couldn’t bring himself…libraries and consoles and bedrooms—they begged you to _do_ something. Forget your thoughts and dress for bed, pick a book and read it, face the enormity of space and time to go out and do _something_ —he just couldn’t….

He knew Martha and Jack were out there at the console, waiting for him to make a decision. He’d led all day, letting his feet take him to drop off Martha’s family, take Lucy into custody, and debrief the UNIT team. Thankfully, Martha and Jack were good at following and explaining, and they’d mostly left him alone during the blessedly mind-numbing hours when he built and lit the pyre. He couldn’t bring himself to go out there and face them both with all of those held-back questions teeming under their skin, and yet—there was a hungry, ragged ache inside that made him want to plead, no, beg for their companionship. He opened his eyes and made to get up, but then remembered he would have to look Martha in the eyes and stayed on the floor. The lights flickered. He could tell the TARDIS was trying to get his attention. He closed his eyes and stubbornly raised his mental walls just a bit higher. He was not in the mood just yet.

 _She must have taken offense to that_ , he thought, because in a moment, the quiet of the closet was broken by the gentle noise of the TARDIS console room filling up the small space. Voices wafted in along with the engine noises. Indistinct at first, they grew in volume in clarity until he could start to make out words. A pause, and then—

“So. What’re you going to do?” Jack asked. Now their voices were as clear as if they were in the room with him, almost like the walls of the TARDIS weren’t enclosing him. _Why_ …. What sort of game was she playing with him?

Martha let out an abrupt sort of laugh. There was a pause. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Dead serious. If I was looking for evasion, I’d be asking Hirō Onoda in there.” The Doctor could just imagine Jack jerking his head towards the hallway where the Doctor was avoiding them. _He probably wouldn’t imagine a supply closet._

“Ha.” He heard Martha take a breath and slowly let it out. “I guess I haven’t time to think about it.” She paused. “I mean, what am I going to say? Just go back to school? ‘Hello! My name’s Martha Jones, remember the key to staying healthy is a good diet and plenty of exercise, off you pop?” There was that laugh again, a short bark that sounded so _wrong_ coming from her. “Jack, I won’t be able to say a word of any of this to anyone, ever. They’re going to think I’m mental.”

“God, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.” Her tone was soft, almost casual, and yet it hit the floor as heavily as the chime of a cloister bell.

His insides squirmed. Stars, he never should have brought her along. But no, he just _had_ to have someone around to tell him how clever he was and laugh at his jokes, someone to distract him from the wreckage in his wake. Oh, Martha. _I’ve ill-used you_.

He remembered bringing Rose back a year later than he promised—the officer, the interrogation, Jackie’s slap. “ _I can’t tell her. I can’t even begin_.” Rose’s words. It had seemed so silly, stupid little humans focused on their tiny little lives. Silly right up until she’d slipped through his fingers and taken the pieces of his life along with her. How do you plant the seeds of a new life when the earth’s been salted underneath?

He pressed the heels of his hands into his ears. _This is private. I’m not going to just sit here and_ —

His refusal was met by sharp whine and a spike of irritation. The lights in the closet flared before flickering shakily. She wasn’t in the mood to coddle him. He slid his hands up into his hair. The Doctor felt guilty for ignoring her when she was so fresh out of her own ordeal. He gritted his teeth, wrapped his arms around his legs, and waited to hear what she wanted him to catch.

“Martha, listen—you’re damn right, one hundred percent. No one will understand what you went through. Not your friends, not your colleagues, not even your family.” Martha’s face must have revealed something, because his tone changed when he continued—

“Martha, they were stuck together in that hellhole for so long. They spent every second of the last year dependent on the whims of that madman. He dominated every moment of _every single_ goddamned day, and they couldn’t do anything about it but keep their mouths shut and pray someone’d take him out.” The Doctor cringed. What was wrong with him? That awful hole left by the Master was still gnawing at his insides, yet all he could thing about were months of shrinking and scraping and flinching.

“Hell, Martha.” Jack’s voice cracked a little. “You have no idea how much you meant to us, and I’m never gonna make it up to you. Come here.” He sounded like he was hugging her, because his next words came out softer and a little bit muffled. “Just—don’t be too angry if sometimes they talk like a club you’re not part of.”

When Martha spoke again, her voice was more vulnerable with Jack than the Doctor could ever remember her being with him. “How do you manage?”

“Aw, hell if I know, Martha.” Jack sucked in a breath. “I used to try and keep it in, then when that didn’t work, I’d tell these outlandish stories. I think that made it worse—they’d all laugh and jump in all the right places, but by the end everybody’d walk away. ‘What a great story,’ you know?”

“You tell people what’s true, you’re gonna have to translate it for them. That’s the thing with all this alien and time-travelling stuff—people might be able to understand what you felt, but if you try to tell it how it happened, they’re going to hear “alien” and get stuck at the door.”

He lapsed into a pensive silence. “War veterans—not the ones in the army, but the resistance type? Partisans and whatnot? They’d probably be able to connect with you. Though a lot of them are probably elderly by now…. The lost time, though…I don’t know if there’s really anyone who’d be able to get that.”

“Curse of a time traveler, yeah?” Her voice was wry, though still weary.

“Yeah. Some curse.” The Doctor curled in on himself even tighter. The weight of straightening out, standing up, and flicking dials on the console hit him in a renewed wave of intimidation. He would have to explain—no, he couldn’t—he needed to think of places to go, places he’d seen or heard of—what would he do if he didn’t have somewhere to go? Think. Think. Somewhere—anywhere. Time was pressing down on him, threatening to fill his lungs and drown him. Koschei—no, the Master—he was the last one left able to _know_ —to remember… understand the enormity of it all—ashes now. Koschei and red grass. Dust on the wind.

No. _Focus. Breath_. Martha and Jack were going to keep talking. They didn’t know what to do. Maybe they knew. Brilliant humans, they’d find a way to go on. They would. They _had_ to. Martha had walked the earth for a whole year. She would figure it out. She was good at that. He waited for the next snatch of conversation. _Please. Please keep talking._ Anything to distract from here and now and the hole inside of him that wouldn’t be going away. The silence stretched out in front of him until he thought it would snap like an elastic band.

“It’s—” Jack relaxed the silence. “To be fair, it’s not all ‘gloom and doom,’” he said with some levity. Martha chuckled. He went on. “It’s not _easy_ —feels like trying to build a snowman in hell sometimes—but there are bright spots.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sometimes, every once in blue moon, mind you, you meet someone who—who _cares_ enough to try and interpret. You know—reach out, try make connections for themselves so they understand you better.” He let out a breath. “Sure, they’ll go off into the weeds sometimes, that’s for sure, but they—” Jack’s voice cracked again. “They try and meet you where you are.”

“Jack.” Martha’s voice was suddenly softer, tender even. The Doctor recognized that voice. She’d used on him before. “Who—who did you lose?”

“It’s fine. I mean—they’re fine, now. Won’t remember a thing.” Jack’s voice was horribly casual.

“ _Jack_.” It sounded as if she was saying “How can you say that?” but there was a ‘please’ in her voice, the Doctor was sure.

“Hell, Martha. I’m an unkillable man from the fifty-first century. What’s one more skeleton in the closet? They’ve been through crap like this before,” Jack said.

“But you lost them—”

“I know. But _they_ …don’t. They don’t. We’ll work it out, eh? Roll with the punches. I’m sure it’ll come up sometime. I just don’t want to think about it for now,” Jack said.

“All right,” she said softly. “I can understand that.” The tremulous purr of the console room subsided until only the low hum of the hallways remained. The Doctor found that it was easier to inhale, now. It was probably… _horribly_ insensitive of him, but just hearing that they were as lost as he felt and yet _still going_ eased some of his paralysis. He wasn’t sure he understood how, but they had no idea what came next and they were somehow at peace with it.

The Doctor rested his hand lightly against the wall as a soft hum sounded through the dim room _. It’s all right,_ _old girl. I’ll only be minute_. The lights flickered gently in response. So neither of them were up to a trip just yet. With his other hand, he caressed the floor under his half-curled fingers, rubbing half-circles with his thumb. _Thank you, old girl. Thank you for…putting up with me._ There was a low hum and he could feel her affection for him settle somewhere in his chest. He relaxed his legs and slowly pushed himself into a standing position. Before leaving, he lingered with his head against the door and his hand resting on the handle. What was he going to say? He thought about Martha and Jack, picturing their brave, beautiful faces. It was all right—they would have places they needed to go…people they needed to see. They would choose where to go and he could follow. Just for a trip or two. He…he knew they wouldn’t want to stay with him for long. At least there were still a few more tasks to complete together before saying goodbye.

…

There’s nothing left to do, now. It’s hard to breathe—his breaths are coming in too quick and too shallow, so he drags a long one in and holds it inside. The TARDIS lights flicker around him. He can feel her trying to help, but he is too agitated to listen. Sound spins and warps around him. He can’t tell the engine from the blood in his ears. The trembling in his arms is driving him mad, so he smacks the grating next to him. _One. Two. Three_. He wants to lash out at his own fear and shove it into submission. His face is unaccountably wet. So many times—he’s done this so many times before, but this—this terror—is new.

His eyes squeeze shut. He finally lets out the breath he’s been holding and gives in to the urge to rock on his heels. The Doctor’s thoughts flicker back to that eternity in a broom closet, and—

Suddenly he is no longer alone. It’s like his insides have been filled up with warm syrup—if someone took a jab at him, he can imagine the blow bouncing off. _Oh_ , **_thank you_**. She hums earnestly, and his sight returns to clarity. The sounds around him straighten and sharpen.

He wraps his fingers around the railing and pulls himself upright once more. It’s been a while since she was this intimately within him, soothing and steadying him. He walks over to the console and rests his hands against the edge. He—he doesn’t know where to go. All he can think is that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone by accident, and that he needs—something. _Please, let me see something new and…something beautiful. Something I haven’t mucked up. Just…give me reason to go on_. _I don’t…I don’t have anyone left to lean on_. He flicks on the dials to take off and wrenches the lever that will keep them steady, but he doesn’t pick a destination. She will pick his last sight, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever been as grateful for her company before.

…

She can feel him hurting. Why is he holding back from healing? He needs to transform and heal his damaged body. His mind is so full of words and memories and pain that she cannot understand him very well. She tries to get his attention, but he is curled up at her very edge and does not pay her any attention. His mind slips into another time. Oh! She knows this moment. He is tired like her. He does not know what to do. He is lost. She does not like being lost—it is her job to know where they are. He returns helpless and angry and he does not let her in or acknowledge her presence. 

_Let me in. I am with you. I am always with you. Please be with me_. She rejoices when his mind opens, and she can feel his emptiness; she fills it up. ‘ _Please…’_ She can hear him pleading. He is not like her—he can see as she sees but only in slivers; if his friends are not with him, he feels grief. He thinks he breaks them, those people he loves, and that he is alone. She knows where to take him. He wants to see something fresh and clean, but he must not think he is only good for breaking things. She can hear the song of the universe spinning and she knows that without her thief and the people he loves, she would hear nothing but clashing chords and chaos. Yes, she knows what he needs to see.

* * *

_To fight aloud, is very brave—_   
_But gallanter, I know_   
_Who charge within the bosom_   
_The Cavalry of Woe—_

_Who win, and nations do not see—_   
_Who fall—and none observe—_   
_Whose dying eyes, no Country_   
_Regards with patriot love—_

_We trust, in plumed procession_   
_For such, the Angels go—_   
_Rank after Rank, with even feet—_   
_And Uniforms of Snow._

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hirō Onada was a Japanese combatant in the second World War. He was so committed to evading capture by his enemies that he spent 29 years in a Philippine jungle even after his comrades left or died, unconvinced that the war had ended. 
> 
> I’m sorry to make this all about the Doctor—Martha is amazing in her own right and I’d love to write the flashback scene into another piece not filtered through the Doctor’s head. However, this story is pretty Doctor-centric for the next few chapters, and I felt like I couldn’t write this story without a tribute to what she’s survived. She’s so amazingly resilient. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Were you confused by the TARDIS? Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Also, I've done my best with proofreading, but I do not currently have a beta reader, so let me know if you spot a mistake and I'll fix it. Feel free to britpick, as well.


	3. Who caught and sang the sun in flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor regenerates.  
> I realized as I was editing this that some paragraphs contain imagery that can be construed as assault. I didn’t intentionally evoke that, but the resemblance is there, so if you’re concerned, ask me in a comment and I can summarize those paragraphs if that is difficult to read.

* * *

She knows how much Rose means to him and she approves. She and the girl both want to protect him. They need him live and stretch and breath. She gives him all strength he can take; he is so weak and he _won’t_ let his body heal like it needs to, but her support diminishes when he is outside of her. He needs to see the girl and remember that to survive is to seek nourishment and find sunlight and grow, not fight enemies seen and unseen to be the last one standing.

...

The TARDIS lands with a resounding peal. He doesn’t usually pay attention to the sound—seems only natural that the sound of her landing would be more proportionate to her inward size rather than her outward appearance. Normally, he would be rushing around the monitor, checking atmospheric makeup and surface temperatures. Wouldn’t want to step out and burn up, now would he? Of course, plenty of other things could be waiting out there to kill him. He chuckles at the memory. Nothing like a little gallows humor. Checking seems a waste of energy, and for once, he simply listens to her sounds. One last landing _._

The Doctor starts towards the door when his leg starts to spasm and cramp up. Lurching forward, he clumsily grasps for the railing and manages to catch himself before he hits the grating. _I should be racing towards the door, shouldn’t I? Not dragging my feet, waiting for regeneration to catch up with me before I even see where she’s brought me._ He hopes she’s picked good place to die. Right melodramatic, he’s being—he can almost hear Donna. _Oi! Think you’re some kind of bloody tragedy, now? Quit wallowing and go outside, you daft prune!_ Donna would never let him live THAT down. He registers that thinking of Donna doesn’t deflate him as much as it should, but his sense of urgency has fled and nothing seems fully real at the moment.

Firmly leaning on the handrail with his left arm, he looks up over his shoulder at her console and lightly pats the railing with his right. _Thank you for…wherever we are._ When he breathes in, there’s a pulsing, stabbing sensation in his side to match the cramps in his leg. Rubbish kidney. He reaches the threshold of the TARDIS and steadies himself. She won’t be as able to support him outside.

The door creaks open to a white world. The air freezes in his lungs, and he can make out buildings fading into the dimness. His first thought is of Dickens and ghosts and a girl who went so quietly into the night for all the rage she channeled—it seems laughably absurd to think he was afraid to die. That was hardly fear.

But no, the air’s all wrong and it tastes like a different sort of fire: not gas and quicklime and coal smoke, but exhaust and—is that gunpowder? And the road’s all wrong—with the way the world is lurching under his feet he should have caught a cobble’s edge by now, hands and knees in the snow…

But he hasn’t, he’s stumbled against a wall, and the lights draw his eyes. Colorful, twinkling fairy lights blazing against the night—his breath catches in his throat and his fingers snag the rough edge of a brick—these bricks, these wonderful bricks! — _it can’t be_. He knows where he is.

The Powell estate. Rose lived—will live—maybe even— _no_ —lives here now.

He can make out graffiti on the wall beside him, and he remembers that not long ago—an eternity ago—he was shooing off a youngster for defacing the TARDIS with the very message that would save him.

An old, wild, familiar feeling jerks at his insides, crushing the air from his lungs. He struggles to push it down. _No, not now_ — _that’s not fair!_ Despite his best efforts, he can feel his hearts beat faster as anticipation flutters inside of him. It was bad enough attending Donna’s wedding when he couldn’t do anything to help her, but visiting Rose—that was dangerously close to dancing around a fixed point, and so tempting—for all that he had blustered, could he _really_ fault her for trying to steal her fathe— _Rose_.

He was in front of _Rose’s_ place. Rose laughing—Rose defending—her spirit, her determination, the way her tongue poked through her teeth when she teased him—his hearts are racing each other and his knees go weak beneath him. His thoughts run wild, tripping over each other in a tumbling mess. _This is Rose’s home!_ The Doctor had sworn he wouldn’t tempt himself by coming here, but _Rassilon_ , he’s here now. He’s here. The TARDIS brought him here, and she must have a reason. He feels almost indignant, angry even—how could she dangle Rose in front of him like this? —but his protest rings weakly even in his own mind. How can he fault her when he’s caught between laughing—really laughing, not like the ugly sound from before—and crying?

He’s disgusted by how quickly his resolve has dissolved—he’s caught between melting onto the snow in a boneless heap and bouncing around in giddy anticipation like a dribbling toddler. _Stop that._ _You’ll never hold back regeneration long enough to chance seeing her with resolve like that._ He drags his thoughts back into the now, slowly, reluctantly—freezing air, brick wall, body failing, empty courtyard, no Rose, dying soon.

For a moment, he stops and allows himself to actually _feel_ his body, instead of wearing it like ill-fitting suit of clothing—and promptly turns around and slams the lid on the wall of pain roaring at the edge of his consciousness. With difficulty, he tries to clear his head, his whole frame clenched and rigid _. I can’t risk being seen—I need to go unnoticed._ Whatever the TARDIS brought him here to see, it must be approaching soon, because he won’t last long enough to see it otherwise. He waits. With a sickening feeling, the Doctor forces himself to think about something else—what else is worth seeing one last time? He thinks the stars, and looks up—the sky is cloudy. There are no stars. Pressure burns at the edge of his awareness so he focuses instead on his icy-numb fingers. At some point, he takes in a bracing breath and doesn’t let it out. He feels his respiratory bypass kick in. Desperation starts beating in his chest until finally, _finally_ , he hears it.

If it were any other time, he would be able to make out their conversation. As it is, his senses aren’t much better than a human’s, but he can still make out a familiar cadence. Jackie and Rose are bickering. A fluttering rush of hope rears up in him. For once, it seems Jackie’s on the defensive instead of nipping at Rose. He feels the corners of a grin push up his cheeks. Their voices fade and he can’t hear them at all. _Please please **please** keep coming_. His hearts are almost in his throat now, and he exhales. It takes everything he has left to hold himself still and upright as he waits.

Rose. She’s _here_. She outshines the fairy lights even as she hurries by, huddled down and bent against the cold. His hearts rise into his throat, competing with his breath for space. Rose is bright in pink and purple, hair glowing under the lights. He stares at her, drinking in her presence like a man lost without water. It’s only a handful of steps, but it feels like an eternity in spun glass; if he clutches it too closely it might break.

And then she walks past him—and no— _no_ , that can’t be the last time he sees her face—but he can’t. He wants to—no— he _can’t_ let her see him, can’t risk ruining _everything_ they had—she’s the only thing holding him together right now—when a sudden spike of pain splinters violently through his traitorous body. An involuntary groan leaks out of him and he starts to double over as a shattering pain laces his sides. _No, no, no, not now!_ He can’t afford to lose his last glimpse of her. And no, _yes_ , Rose, brilliant, observant, compassionate Rose is turning around.

“You all right, mate?” Her voice is achingly familiar. Here he is, a bloke in a dark alley—what’s she to think? Yet it’s as if all she sees is someone in pain and a little lost. Her voice is beautiful—not like music—more like a warm drink in the cold—and he is so cold, but burning up inside—her voice is like a balm. He tries to stand, but his whole body is clenched against the building pain within, so he settles for half-leaning against the wall. The Doctor has spoken with Rose Tyler _so many_ times, babbled paragraphs and pages of words—he needs to be utterly forgettable, or else enigmatic—he wants to flood her with stories he’s never told her and feelings that always got choked in his throat, and—

“Yeah.” The word slips out of his lips. When she looks at him, everything he should say clocks out, flicks off the lights, and slams the door on the way out.

“Too much to drink?” she asks, and he’s amused. He does feel indulgent, standing here, wallowing her presence. She’s wearing a scarf like she did—will—when chasing Blon, and her arms are wrapped around her like she’s the one holding back flames. His eyes are blurring in and out of focus again, but she’s so vibrant against the white snow.

“Something like that,” he says. He could be one of those guests at Donna’s wedding—or maybe the lone man left in an empty pub. He’s not sure if he’s rejoicing or drowning his sorrows, but he doesn’t really care.

“Maybe it's time you went home,” Rose says. _Oh_ …where on this tiny, beautiful planet did she learn to say something like that? Something like raw grief breaks over him. In the haze clouding his mind it seems like there’s only one moment playing over and over again: a kind woman reminds a lost man he needs a home. A red planet, a living ship, a seething blue planet. A dead childhood friend, a broken burning body, a golden human girl. A million words swirl around his head: conversations he’s never been able to initiate—she must _know_ somehow, she acts like she knows—but it seems awful—he’s never managed to tell—so many ways he could answer her, but—

“Yeah.” It’s so _hollow_. Standing between Rose and the TARDIS is the closest he’s felt to home in a long time. If only he could think of something clever or witty—he needs to keep those warm, bright eyes on him. He should be impressing her. He should be dazzling her with new places or his sparkling wit, anything to catch a glimpse of her smile. But what does he have to offer her now, at this green new point on her timeline with no destinations, no clever quips, and no _time?_ What can he possibly say—

“Anyway, Happy New Year,” she says, answering for him. Undeserved, unearned, a smile breaks out over her face and it’s like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time—the light is breaking over him, and it’s hot and golden, and the world around is glowing and dazzling and new.

“And you.” Reflexive, just polite—he can’t find any of the right words but he’s begging her to please, please understand—never mind that she can’t hear, never mind that it’s too early, never mind that she doesn’t even know him yet. _Why? Why bring me here to break my hearts when they’ve only got a few minutes left to beat?_

And no— _no_ —she’s walking away, going to her warm home and he’s never going to _see_ her again—but he’s already stolen a moment—risky enough talking to her even with an unfamiliar face—he could do it, yell after her, bring her back with him—snow is blurring everything—why the snow? It’s freezing—

It was snowing when he saved Adelaide—when she killed herself to correct his arrogance—Rose would never forgive him—

A memory flickers in his mind—time re-written—she’d said _don’t you dare_. No. He can’t. Rose would say tell him that. She’d told him in Utah. She wouldn’t have missed it for the world. But maybe…. He can call her back for a moment—

“What year is this?”

“Blimey, how much have you had?” There’s laughter in her voice. He dips his head into a shrug. “2005, January the first,” she says, emphasizing the words like he should know. She’s right, he should, and he can feel it.

“2005,” the Doctor says, drawing out the year. Oh, this is a date for new beginnings if there ever was one. Time to put down the old year, the dying, worn-out old year. “Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year.” The shortest year of her life, but oh, what a year!

“Yeah?” She chews on the thought for a moment. Then Rose smiles. She smiles, and it’s almost as if she knows what’s coming. He may look like an inebriated man in an alleyway, but she listens like he’s brought her in on some great secret—more truth to that than she can know.

“See you,” she says. His lungs constrict. Yes—she will see him. With that, she goes bounding off. That smile—it’s enough to warm him to his fingertips. He closes his eyes. The afterimage of Rose is burned on the back of his eyelids. Their goodbye is a beginning, and it’s somehow the softest farewell he thinks he’s ever said. _Is this…is this why?_

The minutes flash in front of him—how quickly his flimsy restraint crumpled—he wasn’t even going to talk to her—going to risk time and space, his precious experiences with her to bring back a shadow?—it’s only been twelve minutes, thirty-seven seconds, three microseconds—throw it all away, after what he owes Donna, after what he almost did to Wilf?—but she smiled. She _smiled_. And he’s halfway home, on the eve of the year Rose met him, and it shouldn’t be enough but it keeps him on his feet.

As she runs up the steps and out of sight, something quietly _cracks_ inside him and everything comes roaring back. Wild energy is scorching his ribs and pressing into his vision, spiking through his eye sockets and boiling through his blood. _TARDIS—I have to—_ he fumbles across the wall. No one to bear it with him—can’t hold it back now. Still exposed under the empty sky. _Not here_ —

He stumbles forward. His limbs are jerking out from under him. Not sure—up, down—listing left and right—the world is wheeling across his vision—if he thought his trembling was bad earlier—squeezes his eyes shut—fight to block in the pounding, relentless _pressure_ —

He lifts a foot and suddenly the earth is there, rolling under him. He’s tottering, reeling. _Can’t think straight—TARDIS—not here—no time—_ There’s an explosion that burns stars across his vision and smashes the air from his broken lungs—back arching, lurching forward—wrists curling, fingers spasming—not here in the wide open—alone—

and he staggers to his knees.

shrapnel for ribs

searing

no

_TARDIS_

ground under his hands—ice—can’t see her—needs to _get up_ —wrists trembling—tries—fails—can’t shake it back—head so heavy—and the _fire_ —

and it’s…calming—it’s burning down to embers—glowing, flickering coals for bones—music. That’s music. More than music. It’s a song. He can still feel his body splitting at the seams but the music…it fills a hole, an aching ragged hole…it’s not the same, but it’s almost like he can hear _them_ again, and the song of time rippling around them. What he wouldn’t give for their consciousness at the back of his mind. The song trips a memory—the TARDIS, full of people he loved. His family. Chattering, giggling, shouting. They saved the Earth and put planets back and returned the stars to the sky. It was the last time he felt…whole.

He catches his breath. Breathing, no, panting—better than…whatever he’s been doing—he can bear to open his eyes. He lifts his head again—no longer too heavy.

It’s Ood Sigma. And…he’s not here to reign the Doctor back. He’s here on a…mission… of mercy.

“We will sing to you, Doctor.” That singing—it’s achingly beautiful, and full of wonder, jubilance…gratitude?

“The universe will sing you to your sleep.” It baffles him—the universe is broken and smoking and hanging by threads—it’s been ripped up and bastardized and patched back together like the stringy sinew of Davros’ ruined body—but the song he hears…it’s about growing and silvery scars and rosy, stretched out rents where despite the tearing _force_ , healing occurred. Worlds are growing and laughing and fighting and dying and stars are being reborn. 

Twined amidst all of the life, he hears his name.

He reaches into the well of his strength and finds enough pooled there to wrench upwards. He staggers upright and stands there, swaying, for a moment. The music strengthens him, not filling him up like the TARDIS’s glowing warmth, but like lifting hands against his back and underneath his arms. When he starts forward, it’s almost as if he has a hand to hold again. 

The Doctor grits his teeth and advances. His eyes are burning with unshed tears but he keeps them fixed on the TARDIS. She’s alight. She stands proud, a blue, shining beacon and a promise to keep and care and carry on. He lurches forward like a ship on the waves, and he knows that he’s passed the reefs and shoals. The worst peril is over.

He reaches her door and turns the key in the cold, hard lock. She opens for him as she always does. He’s almost swept away as he steps inside and she fills him again with her love. He closes his eyes for a moment and rests against her door. _Only one place to go, now_. No use waiting.

Hand over hand, he moves along the railing towards her console. He can feel her stroke the raw places in his mind but there’s no time to rest. His whole body is warm, almost sweltering, and he throws his coat off before bringing his hand up. It’s finally visible, the fire he’s been keeping at bay. He drops his arm and continues forward, bracing himself against the console as he prepares to put her in flight. He looks up at her time rotor before sending her out into space one last time. She’s hovering around the edges of his conscious mind, and he doesn’t shut her out, but as he looks at her heaving rotor, her reassurances offer no comfort. _No time left_. She seems almost anxious, but there’s nothing she can do and he has nothing left, no strength or tenderness, with which to comfort her. _Thank you anyways, for everything_.

Then a familiar wild alien feeling starts to take him, to steal his body from him and he can’t help but panic. It’s like the hope that possessed him when he realized he might see Rose—but he can’t control it and it’s taking him, _Rassilon_ it’s taking him and he can’t push it back and it’s too strong to shove away and he’s going to wake up here alone and alone and remember it all and die here alone and forget and burn out and it’s the last time left and there’s so much more and he wants to scream and weep and babble and beg, anything but this and this and this forever—this is the end and it’s terrifying and _he doesn’t want to go_ and—

…

She hums to the pulse of the universe. She may be Gallifrey-grown, but starlight is her cradle and time her suck. She is life and death and breathes time, but as he stole her away, she fixed a face to him and his point of time. When her mind considers her thief, she is in awe at the webs he weaves. (She still thinks he should listen to her more often than he does).

He is not connected to time like she is. He…he… _was_ …connected to his people. To disconnect would be death for her, yet he is cut off from his people…he cannot hear them…now…like he…could…and he is not dead.

He stumbles in her doors and she feels the crashing wave of his emptiness. _He is in pain. He hurts so much, why, WHY will he not let himself regenerate?_ She soothes and solicits, and he puts up no walls this time but she cannot reach him. _“Alone, all gone, time’s run out, dying.”_ Loneliness, death; these things are not in her own experience. She is now and then and everywhere. _But he is not_. _And these things hurt him._ He does not want to go on. No…he does see the beauty of the growing universe but he cannot picture himself surviving…but he wants to. He wants to see it but he is terrified to change. Oh, his _terror_ …she knows terror but very rarely. It is so small compared to the vastness of her experience, but it is sharp and he lacks that vastness and the _terror_ is all he feels. No, there is also loneliness, and he thinks it is eternal.

How unbearable an existence. 

She decides—she has always decided—to give him a gift. She maps his scattered, wonderful consciousness and wraps it up in herself. She preserves him in a moment, and when his aching body finally regenerates, she shifts this ‘now’ into a new home, a new body. He remains with her, and yet a part of him is gone—Rose is with him at least, and terror does not black out his horizons.

* * *

_Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
  
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
  
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
  
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
  
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
  
..._

Excerpt from “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”

Dylan Thomas 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am sorry for the late update. Some stuff came up and I got behind on writing. Also, these chapters are getting longer and longer—this one’s about the length of 1 and 2 combined. I don’t know if that’s going to be a trend or not. Because this was finished at approximately 3:30 am, I might have missed something in my editing, so let me know if you spot something that needs to be fixed.
> 
> Secondly, as a heads up: I don’t have a buffer yet, and I’m still working out how to cover the next chapter, which will start in Rose's POV and span Journey’s End. I’m also going to be watching a friend’s kids, which will remove a day from my writing schedule. It’s possible that this week will be a late update as well, depending on whether or not I split up Journey’s End into two parts and how much time I can wrangle to write. I’m still rather new at this and figuring things out as I go. If you want, you can keep up with me on my Doctor Who blog under the handle [Slippingbetweenthestars](https://slippingbetweenthestars.tumblr.com) at tumblr.  
> ETA: slight edit with some re-arranging for pace. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Love it? Hate it? Want to bash my keyboard over my head for egregious abuse of em dashes? I would love to hear. Also, if you’re interested, feel free to hit me up about all of the random things I researched for this seemingly research-free chapter.


	4. A Fundamental Pause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we switch to Rose’s POV! The story took a very unexpected turn in the plotting process as I decided where the story will be going long-term. While I intend this story primarily to be about communication and healing, there will be strong ‘Pete’s World Torchwood’ and Cyber elements. Since Cybermen are involved, the story will deal with inherent issues about body autonomy and consent. While that will not be sexual in nature, for that purpose I decided not to use archive warnings and to update the rating to T. 
> 
> One last warning: here be needles (referenced, not described)—feel free to comment and I’ll let you know what to avoid. This chapter might be a little uncomfortable, but I promise we’re going somewhere.

* * *

_As she floats, her sight is filmed over with gold. Everything is laid bare—she bounces a ball and fights the boy who takes it—the earth grows and greens around her— she listens to her mother’s labored breathing until it ceases—the earth glows red and coalesces—yet it shatters —her walls tumble and crash, then reform—_

_She is flung—she **expands** —tidal waves frozen in a moment—silver leaves shimmer—a child trips on a mine and splinters in the temporal shear—green-orange-black-green again—born and unborn—bubbling across a taut-wire moment—she is being stretched apart— **it hurts** —she tumbles over and over again as the swell shoves her away from her birthplace—a man stumbles away from the smoking ruins of an unborn city—she can number the hairs on his head—but the look in his **eyes** —_

…

Rose Tyler woke up restless and uncomfortably warm. Her heart thudded in her chest like Jackie at her bedroom door when Rose _really_ wasn’t in the mood to answer. She craned her neck over to see the time. 5:24 am. She collapsed back onto her pillow with a thump _. That’s a relief_. Close enough to her alarm that she wouldn’t have to spend another few hours tossing and pretending rest would come. She took a deep breath. _No use waiting, then_. Rose untangled herself from her bedding. 

A dry, bitter taste in her mouth made it hard to swallow, so she went to the kitchen for a drink. The sweet taste of water hit her mouth before she remembered. _Ugh._ _Right_ _. No food or drink eight hours before_. She rinsed it around her mouth then spit it out. Groping around a drawer full of bits and bobs for a hairband, she put it around her wrist and returned to her room to dress in leggings and a t-shirt. She folded her pyjamas and lay them neatly in a drawer, then threw her hair up in a quick ponytail without stopping to look in a mirror. Before leaving, she firmly tugged her duvet taut and surveyed the spotless room. _Now’s as good a time as any._ Ready as ever.

Her shoes and bag were already at the front of her flat, so it took less than two minutes to be out the door. Taking the stairs more quickly than usual, she went down and out the back door of the building. In spite of herself, she glanced up at the sky—still dark, and cloudy. _Seems there actually are silver linings some days_. She hated looking at the empty sky.

She started out her run slowly, matching her breaths to her footfalls. Inhale for four, exhale for four. She felt like a shaken-up can of cola, primed to explode, so she poured her energy into pounding her feet into the pavement. Today was not a day to ease into things. _In, two, three, out, two, three._ The city was dim before dawn and all she could hear was her own breath, which did little to soften her unease.

It’s funny—before she came here, she wouldn’t have been able to locate the Canary Wharf building on a map, let alone run there from her flat. She hadn’t been home often enough to know or care about some posh skyscraper, even if it was more visible in the other London than here, where it was camouflaged by a maze of similar glass and steel spires. Now she could probably run there blindfolded, and the streets were empty enough that she wouldn’t even hit someone on the way there—

She pushed herself a little faster and felt a burn start to creep up her side. It was too early to think about everything. _The other London isn’t a proper home any more than the one you’re living in now, so you might as well stop pining._ Stupid Torchwood, always two steps away from her thoughts. She refocused her attention on the shops lining the streets.

She ran past Ed’s Chippy. She’d loved eating there after she started working for Torchwood. Better than canteen food, and a lot less questionable. Closed. And there was Acharya’s Eats, the Indian restaurant that introduced her to vegetarian cuisine. Also closed for the foreseeable future. Loveland’s bakery should have been glowing by now. Closed.

As she passed the darkened bakery, she took her eyes off the streets. So window-watching was a bad idea. Instead, she started playing a pop song in her head… _'Cause you had a bad day. You're takin’ one down. You sing a sad song just to turn it around._ She couldn’t see how anyone managed to use earpods these days, even if some music would be nice. Funny that she ended up in the one place she could afford to try out an mp3 player, and of course great blundering Cybermen come up with a way to pull your brain out through your ears with them. Earpods would have been useless anyways since half her favorite music didn’t exist here. _And I don't need no carrying on—_

Before she was ready for it, the Torchwood tower loomed in front of her like a wart on a witch’s nose. Catching her breath, she grabbed the bag slung over her back and reached for her ID card on her bag. She had refused the offer of an implant chip—how people thought those were “convenient” and “discreet” was beyond her. If wearables were so damn convenient, why not a bracelet? She scanned her card and walked through a set of sliding doors into the posh lobby, all imposing and silver. Her ratty exercise clothes were incongruous with the banker-type suits hovering around the chairs in the corner. Instead of approaching the gleaming lift or the polished hardwood receptionist’s desk, she headed to the back of the room where a dim hallway sat to the side. A cart full of cleaning supplies stood near the entrance, and towards the end of the hallway was a small, grubby desk in front of a service lift with an “out of order” sign taped onto the doors. At the desk sat an older gentleman with slightly scruffy white beard and grey jacket.

“Morning, Nigel. How’s the missus?” she asked.

“Good morning, Ms. Tyler! She’s doing well enough, thank you. I’ll tell her you asked,” he said, smiling. Nigel worked the morning to midday shift. She always made an effort to chat with him—he was a good natured fellow, and seemed as out of his depth here as she felt.

“Mum was just complaining about her slot time for groceries. She said she had to wait for ages to get in, and I was thinking about Rosemary,” Rose said. Rosemary’s arthritis had been flaring up recently.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m thinking it’s time to get her a chair,” he said, letting out a sigh. “Had to call the neighbors to help with buying groceries on account of our slot time—right in the middle of my shift!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the timesheet on the wall next to the desk.

“I tried to call for an exemption but you know what it’s like—put me on hold for hours, then the office closed!” He shook a hand in the air in a gesture of frustration and Rose grimaced sympathetically. “Mind you, can’t say I blame ‘em. Problem is, my Mary can still walk ‘round the house—don’t think they’ll let her have one ‘til she’s bedridden.”

Rose let out a laugh. “Rosemary? Bedridden? She’d make the bed want to get up and walk!” Rose had only met her a couple of times, but Rosemary wasn’t one for sitting still. Both encounters had left Rose’s bag stuffed full of fresh biscuits originally intended for Nigel’s meal.

“That she would, Ms. Tyler,” he said, chuckling. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I’ve a note here says you’ve got additional instructions inside, room 37-S4-B2. Hope you know where—I’d get lost if they wanted me to work the sublevels.” He pressed a button and a scanner screen appeared where the buttons for the service lift used to be. Rose walked towards the screen.

“Thanks, Nigel.” She smiled over at him as she pressed her hand against the scanner, then walked over to the peephole on the lift door and waited as a hidden scanner took her eyeprint.

Rose let the smile slide off her face and took a deep breath as the lift doors closed around her. The underground levels housed some of the more secure projects and salvaged technology, as well as medical. Torchwood Tower may not have dwarfed the corporate offices surrounding it, but its roots spread out like a sequoia’s, going out for miles under the city. She headed down a corridor, took two lefts and then a right before ending up in front of door labelled 37, with a smaller label underneath reading “personnel” in block letters. Same place as usual. It was only the instructions that differed. Rose thought they ought to move Assignments a little closer to the lift and out of the maze.

Next to the door was a kiosk sunk into a wall. A screen with a slot underneath sat at chest level. Below it was a small hollow in the wall similar to an ice dispenser. Rose held up her keycard until her name popped up, then confirmed her identity with her handprint. A schedule reeled out of the slot like a receipt, and something rattled in the dispenser. She tore off the schedule and scooped up a plastic cylindrical container and two square packets about the size of a digestive biscuit, then made her way back towards the locker room. She scanned her keycard and went inside.

Dim florescent lights lit the space, which opened up into a long room to the right. A row of benches split the room down the middle. Directly in front of the door were two rows of metal lockers; for all the fancy security technology upstairs, the lockers still used simple combination locks. Rose went to a locker on the top row labelled with her name and pulled out a towel and toiletry bag. She took off her shoes, placed them in the locker and put on a pair of shower shoes. Instead of going to one of the beige-curtained changing rooms behind her, she went to the back of the room, where two doors, two showers and three toilet stalls met at the corner. She opened one of the doors, stepped into a white-tiled toilet room, and locked the door behind her.

Her phone buzzed. It had been bloody difficult to locate a proper mobile with everyone using earpods, but she’d finally found a business in New Germany that still made them. Little bit odd, though—smaller, squarish, with a clip on the back so you could wear it on a waistband. She glanced down at the message on the screen. Jackie was messaging.

_“Rose, love. Coming to Torchwood. Bringing Tony so you can say goodbye.”_

She gritted her teeth and tossed it on the bench, pulled her shirt over her head, and buried the phone in the fabric. They’d _talked_ about this. She sat down in her leggings and scanned the schedule. Mostly typical pre-jump stuff, but it looked like her blood draw was in a different lab than usual. It was good that she’d planned to come early—she’d have to stop by a whole different level. She skipped to the bottom and checked the printed instructions there. Right, it looked like one patch to the arm and another back between her shoulder blades. No new prep this time.

Grabbing the plastic cylinder and the miniature straightener in her toiletry bag, she walked over to the sink and plugged the straightener in. She took her hair down before throwing it in a bun. Sitting down on the toilet next to the sink and pulling off her leggings and pants, she unscrewed the lid from the plastic container, held it under her, and filled it up. She screwed the lid back on the urine sample and set it down on the sink before rinsing her hands and turning on the shower. She pulled off her bra and threw her clothes on the bench before stepping into the spray.

Rose savored the feeling of grime slipping away in the warm water. The heat was so relaxing; this was probably the least tense she would be all day. While she showered, she brushed her teeth, gargled water, and spit. At least her headaches had stopped since she’d started working with the dimension cannon, otherwise morning runs with no water would do a number on her. Jackie had pestered her to take the tube, but runs helped ground her.

She stayed in the shower as long as she could justify before grudgingly turning off the water and toweling off. Her clothes were in the bag she’d brought from home, which was sitting haphazardly next to the toiletry bag and exercise clothes on the bench. Unzipping it, she pulled out a leather jacket, mulberry top, pair of trousers, and fresh underthings. She dressed in her bra and knickers, then grabbed the anesthetic patches underneath her toiletry bag.

She looked down at her forearms. Brown scars clustered near the crook of her arm and dotted her skin halfway to her hand. Her left had slightly more—maybe the right would be better, but what if the numbing was distracting on her mission? The patches lasted long and wore off with an annoying tingling. She didn’t need anything to throw her off while using her dominant arm. She opened one of the patches and stuck it on her left forearm. Her back was going to be challenging. The instructions didn’t specify a side, so she went with left as well, craning her neck backward to see herself in the mirror. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to stick right above her shoulder blade. She prodded the patch on her arm. Deadening already. The stuff they cooked up in their labs amazed her sometimes.

She pulled on her shirt and trousers before taking down her hair. She ran the straightener over it in quick passes to smooth it into uniformity, then did her makeup, just enough to say ‘professional.’ Grabbing her things and the urine sample, she left the toilet and returned to her locker. She put her stuff in, tugged on her socks, and laced up her boots.

Just before she left the locker room, Rose pulled on her jacket. It was cool around her and fit snugly around her middle. Wearing it felt like a shield between her and the world. She thought she’d come to understand the Doctor and his coats—she used to think it was a bit silly the way he’d always wear the same things, but she’d come to appreciate the feeling of being armored, protected from the world around her. It was always nipping at her and trying to get in. She shut the locker door and clicked the lock shut. She zipped up her jacket just a bit further. Locked and loaded. She checked her schedule and started to make her way to 49-S4-B4 for her blood draw. Before that, she’d need to drop off the urine sample at the lab near the lift. If all went to plan, this might be the last time she had to deal with all the monitoring. _I can take one more day._

Torchwood had reminded her of the TARDIS, at first, with its snaking corridors and dim lights. Now she found the difference in atmosphere striking. Despite the confusing, futuristic nature of both places, the TARDIS had always felt inviting, like she was on your side. Torchwood was the opposite—looking down the cold hallways, Rose felt like she had swallowed something slimy and dead. The place practically screamed “Concealment is my specialty!” while the TARDIS had beckoned and said “Let me unfold the universe to you.”

Still, she had managed to adjust to both places well enough to function and find her way around. The assignment kiosk, locker room, and labs she needed to visit were thankfully all in section four. She made for the lift and passed Geoffrey with his customary coffee, Mitzi, who normally processed her blood samples, and bleary-eyed Dr. Patel, casting a winning yet ‘this-is-too-early’ smile at each of them in turn. They nodded back and continued in different directions towards their destinations. She’d tried to learn as many names as she could.

The lab she was heading towards had a counter inside much like a pharmacy. She breezed in and called a greeting to Emmaline, who normally worked the counter. Instead of her familiar freckled face, Rose was greeted by a stammering young man with a sharp nose and a growing blush. She groaned internally. New technicians had a way of sending her back to when Torchwood had first started monitoring her, blushing in embarrassment as she gave them her own pee in a cup and feeling nauseated as she submitted to their many tests. _Why today?_ She bit the inside of her lip and steeled herself.

“Hello. I’m Rose Tyler, here to drop off a sample.” She smiled at him and hoped it wasn’t a grimace. He thanked her, not meeting her eyes. **_Very_** _new, then_. He set it down and went back to looking at someone’s e-charts. She resisted the urge to sigh. “Hello?” she said, trying to catch his attention. “Sorry to bother, but I’ve got a mission today and that sample analysis needs to get to Dr. Elaine Walker before I do. My file number is 39-21-377, under project Molehill.” He looked up and mumbled his thanks, an even darker blush spreading across his cheeks. Nothing like the lab rat reminding you how to do your job. The e-charts laid aside, he started off towards the back to begin the analysis. She left the room and tried to calm down her silly, racing heart so the heat would leave her cheeks. If she had any luck, by this time tomorrow she would have found what they were calling ‘the paradigm origin’ and brought back the stars. With a heftier dose of luck, she might finally be able see the Doctor again.

When she reached the lift, she pressed the button and waited, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. It was unusually hard to keep still today. The lift dinged as it arrived and slid open to reveal more lab technicians and doctors heading down. She chatted with them brightly on the way down. Small talk. _Be approachable._ It was harder than usual when the voice at the back of her mind kept distracting her with thoughts that this might be the last day she saw any of them. 

She forced those thoughts back as she talked to Chun-hong, who was standing next to her. She had seen him before in the vicinity of Mitzi’s lab, but he’d recently been promoted to a new project on B4. He got out with her on the fourth sublevel and went to his lab. She told him the number of today’s lab, and he waved as they separated. Clipped to her pocket, her mobile buzzed again. She didn’t look at it. _Not answering. I’m at work._ Jackie was really the only person who texted her regularly, and she was not in the mood to argue with her. Rose had made her position quite clear before.

She consulted her schedule and worked out a way to find the lab. It was busier down her than she’d expected. She made sure to greet all the people scuttling like ants to work. When she reached 49-S4-B4, she double checked her schedule to make sure she was in the right place, took a deep breath, and walked in. _Hopefully, this won’t take too long._ She was anxious enough for today’s jump as it was. Three people in lab coats busied themselves at the equipment inside; the room was about the size of medium waiting room with the medical equipment taking up about half of the room and a reclining patient’s chair to the side.

While this particular lab was unfamiliar, the basic procedure was the same everywhere. She looked around for a paper gown and changing curtain and spotted some gowns folded on the counter by the door.

“Morning,” Rose said as she snagged one. Two faces glanced up at her and smiled; the third was busy staring at a computer screen with brows drawn together like the machine was speaking something alien. For all she knew, it was. In the corner of the room was a curtain hanging from a rounded rod and a little fold-out bench. She walked over and drew it closed. She waited for a few breaths before peeling off her jacket. _Let’s get this over with_. It was cold without the cushioning warmth of her jacket. She debated keeping her bra on, but she figured it best not to chance interference with the procedure. She left her trousers on, pulled her hair to the front, and tied the gown at the neck before walking back out.

A technician with hair in a brown braid approached her with a clipboard. “Rose Tyler?” she asked, smiling perfunctorily. 

“That’s me. Want me to sit?” Rose asked, smiling back with what she hoped was a bright and even more business-like manner.

“Yes, lean back please.” Rose complied. “I’ll need your forearm,” the technician said, pulling a rubber band-looking tourniquet from the trey next to the chair and wrapping it around Rose’s left arm. The brown-haired woman turned away to go wash her hands. When she returned she sat down on a rolling stool next to the patient’s chair.

“Make a fist.” She reached down for a pair of gloves and didn’t look up as she pulled them on. Rose squeezed her fingers into a fist and imagined punching holes in the universe like the dimension cannon. The technician swabbed Rose’s forearm with quick motions using one of the alcohol wipes on the tray. Rose waited as the technician fiddled with one of the syringes. She placed her thumb firmly on Rose’s arm. Rose closed her eyes in what she hoped looked like a casual slow blink. She’d never get used to this part. She stiffened despite the numbness in her arm. _All in your head._ When she opened her eyes and looked down, she could see her own red blood slowly filling the syringe.

“And done. Hold this here.” The technician released the tourniquet and pressed some gauze down on the insertion spot with her cool hands. Rose complied, and the brown-haired woman pressed a bit of medical tape over the gauze. The technician went to one of the machines at the back of the room and started labelling Rose’s blood. _Almost done_. _Just here, then Dr. Walker’s once-over and meds, and then I’m done with being poked and prodded_.

While the brown-haired technician processed her blood, a male technician with a more welcoming expression came over.

“My turn now, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure this is just the _highlight_ of your day. I’m Pierre.” Rose relaxed a little bit and smiled back. Sometimes she wondered if sarcasm was just another alien language to Torchwood employees, so it was nice to meet someone who talked like an actual person. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to lower this chair, and if you could lay face down, that would be great. He did, and Rose rolled over and tucked her arms up under her. The air was cold against her bare back, and she shivered.

“I know. I’m sorry, and I’ll do my best to make sure and make this as quick as possible,” the technician’s, Pierre’s, voice came from next to her. She could hear a cart being wheeled over, then footsteps and the sink. He returned, and she could feel the icy touch of an alcohol swab over the pressure-numbed area. She could feel her skin tug as he took off the anesthetic patch, but it was like someone was brushing a callus, or touching her skin through clothes. The chill of the swab was back again, then pressure on her skin, and she tried to relax.

She’d made an attempt to learn meditation so she could deal with, well, _everything_ and losing her home, but she’d never been very good at clearing her mind. Landscapes were no good—she kept picturing earthquakes opening cracks in the earth, or the seas boiling over. Alien landscapes were hardly better. She’d had so many close brushes with death that thinking about them did little to calm her, and on top of that, thinking about the stars in any capacity rubbed against the raw spot inside of her from leaving behind the Doctor. _No, no, it’s no good thinking about him yet_. Not here in this world. Thoughts like those she limited to missions _only_. It was no good thinking about him when she was...here.

She could feel the skin tugging on her back. She’d had some scopes put in her before—she remembered it took them a while to do as they tried to find what they were looking for. She bit down on her lower lip. One of the songs she thought while running came to mind, and she latched onto it greedily. _Sometimes the system goes on the blink, and the whole thing, it turns out wrong. You might not make it back and you know that you could be well, oh, that strong, and I'm not wrong. Yeah, yeah, yeah._ That song had played _so_ many times at Hendrik’s. She alternated between counting her heartbeats and focusing on song lyrics. _It will be over soon_. Her stomach still turned uneasily.

“Almost done now. You’re doing great,” Pierre’s voice was calming. A high-pitched whine filled the air, and Rose’s senses kicked into overdrive. She craned her neck over to get a look at the source of the sound.

“What’s that?” she said, trying to keep her voice from rising an octave. _Calm. Be calm._

“Oh, this?” he said, and she could feel a spot on her back warming up. “Prototype dermal regenerator. They’re not standard issue yet, but they’re tried and true in my opinion. Only reason everyone hasn’t got ‘em is because the higher-ups are rationing during the crisis.” Rose struggled to make out his words. At ‘dermal regenerator,’ her hearing had gone underwater. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

“I know you have some kind of special healing deal, but we figured you wouldn’t want to go into the field with half-healed stitches, either way.” He sounded so nonchalant. The spot on her back got warmer.

“Stitches?” she managed to creak. _No, you’ll never be taken seriously like that_ _!_ “What do you mean, stitches?” she continued, voice a little stronger.

“For the tracker,” Pierre said, matter-of-factly. “The folks up in implants haven’t created a Molehill-strength tracker small enough to insert by needle yet, so I had to sew it in. Don’t worry, it won’t corrode or anything….” his voice trailed off as Rose’s whole body seized up. Her hands balled up in fists beneath her. “Rose, are you all right?” he said uncertainly. “I’m just about done…”

“Think I’m gonna be sick,” she blurted. Sure enough, her mouth was flooding with saliva and her stomach was clenching like someone had punched her in the gut. She pushed off the chair and made a beeline for the bin by the door. Bile burned its way up her throat. She crouched there, retching. Her whole body trembled as her stomach contracted again and again. It felt like someone was wringing it out. She could hear hovering voices blur together in the background. She squeezed her eyes shut. The minutes crawled by until eventually, _finally_ , her stomach stopped seizing. She stayed on the ground, arms wrapped around her legs. She lay her head on her knees and focused on breathing. _In, two, three, four—out, two, three, four. Again._ She kept going until her body started to ease up.

Rose felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked over, expecting to see Pierre, but it was the brunette technician. She was holding a paper cup full of water.

“I know you’re not supposed to drink, but this can help get the taste out of your mouth.” Her voice was low and soothing, much different from her brisk, efficient manner during the blood draw. Rose took the cup from her and swished the water in her mouth to try and get rid of the bile’s bitter tang. _So much for being optimistic about today._ Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. There she was, crouched down like a child, exposed in a flimsy paper gown, and heaving her guts out in front of total strangers. The technician began rubbing the right side of her back gently, like one might comfort a colicky baby. Her hands were cold. Rose couldn’t make out what she was murmuring—sounded like lapping waves. Rose felt horribly shaky. She spit the water out and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She remembered waking up dry-mouthed, and a new emotion burned through her humiliation. She had done _every single thing_ they’d asked her to do, to the _letter_ , and they went and pulled something like this?

Fury chafed under her skin. Rose forced herself to be very still. She drew a breath through her nose and stood up. The technician stood up with her, holding Rose’s left arm to steady her. Rose almost pulled away, but her vision wobbled in a dizzying rush, and she swayed in place as black spots cleared from her sight. Her jaw clenched. _They put a **tracker** in me. They put a **TRACKER. In. Me**. Not, oh, a simple ID. Not even a keychip. No, they went and put a **tracker** inside of me and they didn’t even so much as ask. No, they didn’t even TELL me. _Rose had never felt so capable of murder.

She looked around, body stone-still and furious. Pierre wasn’t looking at her. He was scribbling something down with a stylus on an e-chart— _her_ medical chart. Like this was just some routine side effect of surgery. Rose clamped her teeth together, breathing through her nose as she waited. When he looked up, Rose locked eyes with him, watching his concern bleed into to alarm. _Good_. _He ought to be scared_. Then, as she watched, his expression…shifted. His mouth sagged open in dismay until it he wore a look of revulsion and horror.

“Oh, God…” he said weakly. “You didn’t…” Rose forced herself to swallow and turn her face away from him. _He—didn’t know_.

He still didn’t ask. None of them _ever_ asked. She couldn’t even see their damn test results without Pete pulling strings.

“I’m going to change.” She fought to keep her voice low and level. Holding herself erect, she strode towards the changing curtain. She struggled out of the gown, eventually ripping the ties at the back when she couldn’t get them undone. It was hard to keep in hot tears when she finally had a moment of privacy. Rose sat down pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, hunching over and shuddering as a few tears leaked out. Variations on the same thought kept bouncing around in her head.

How _dare_ they—they can’t—I…can’t believe—they did—to me—how _could_ they?—

Her mobile buzzed. She resisted the urge to straighten up and fling it at the wall. _I don’t have the **energy** to drag out a goodbye I’ve already said!_ She sat there for a moment, imagining all the things she would tell her mum when she got the chance. _Not today, mum. NOT today._ The distraction gave her something to focus on. Laying aside what…just happened…she had a job to do. This was bigger than her. Oh, she would _have words_ when she got her hands on whoever authorized this, but stars were disappearing exponentially, and she’d seen what that looked like in the world where…she didn’t want to think about that. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and pressed it against the tear tracks on her face. _Thank God for waterproof mascara_. Even if it seemed like half of Torchwood knew more about her body than she did, she was not going to let anyone else see her so rattled.

She started getting dressed. When she pulled her shirt on, that spot on the left side of her back tingled as it was brushed. Almost subconsciously, her right hand reached over her shoulder to touch the spot. She stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing, but not before she felt a stiff loop of thread at the top of a small bump. No, no, no. _We’re not doing this now_. She couldn’t afford to deal with this now. She reached for her jacket and pulled it around her. Now she felt less…exposed. She set her jaw, crumpled up the gown, and opened the curtain.

Before she did anything else, she binned the gown. When it was where it belonged, she turned to the technicians, voice unnaturally casual. “So, I’m going to be heading over to Dr. Walker’s lab next.” She ignored the looks on their faces—even the technician in the corner had blanched and was staring at the screen with glazed-over eyes as if he wanted to look anywhere but at her. “She’s not the patient sort, so get the results to her as soon as you’re done.” _Let them chew on that._ Her nerves of steel were back—if they were going to treat her like an experiment, she was going to act like one. _I’ll show you Cyber_.

She opened the door and walked out.

* * *

_Crumbling is not an instant's Act_   
_A fundamental pause_   
_Dilapidation's processes_   
_Are organized Decays —_

_'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul_   
_A Cuticle of Dust_   
_A Borer in the Axis_   
_An Elemental Rust —_

_Ruin is formal — Devil's work_   
_Consecutive and slow —_   
_Fail in an instant, no man did_   
_Slipping — is Crash's law —_

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was...the hardest thing I think I’ve written. The story was emotionally trying, and on top of that there was new plot, new characters, new scenarios, and it’s mostly speculation instead of going off of a script or snapshot. I would love your feedback about what works and what doesn’t. Comments are definitely fiction fuel. 
> 
> If you can’t tell by my punctuation and spelling, I am from the States. As such, Rose can be challenging for me to write. I was originally intending to switch straight into fresh new-bodied Ten in the burning TARDIS with Donna but realized that since I intend to write the post-JE story from both perspectives, setting up Rose’s POV was vital. Please let me know if I let any obvious Americanisms slip. Jackie is next!


	5. That span the summits of the mind

* * *

_Rose Tyler stood in front of the counter, tapping her foot nervously. She wasn’t even sure she was supposed to be here. No one had given her any instructions on how to get her lab results, and it wasn’t as if she could just phone Torchwood and ask. She wasn’t even sure she could find her way back to the various labs she’d visited, let alone track down the nurses, lab technicians, and doctors she’d met with. Maybe it had been a bad idea to leave Pete out of this—but no, he worked on the upper levels, mainly with personnel._ _Fat lot of good he’d be—he_ _said the sublevels weren’t his sphere. If only Mickey wasn’t on mission._

 _In the hallway, she’d asked a woman for help, but she’d only asked to see Rose’s schedule. Rose didn’t have one—she wasn’t scheduled to come in today. But it had been a week, and according to her internet searches, that was more than enough time with the advanced state of medicine in this world, not even accounting for Torchwood’s_ _advanced technologies_ _. It didn’t matter. She COULD do this on her own._

_“Can I help you?” A technician had finally come out, looking annoyed and somewhat puzzled to see Rose standing in her lab._

_“Um, I’m here to get some lab results?” Rose said._

_“Medical identification number?”_

_“Right, hang on, I have it written down—” Rose pulled a crumpled note out of her pocket. “Here it is—649-87-L22.”_

_“That’s a personnel number, not a medical ID,” the technician said with a huff. “Medical IDs are seven digits, not eight, and they don’t have letters.”_

_“Oh.” Rose felt her stomach sink “Can you—you know, look it up for me?”_

_“That’s prohibited.”_

_“It is? 'Kay. Got it. Do—d’you know where I could find it?” Rose couldn’t wait until she got past this awkward stage where she couldn’t go anywhere without tripping over some rule or protocol no one had thought to tell her because it was apparently just obvious to everyone else._

_The technician sighed and schooled her features into a painfully longsuffering expression. “Your medical identification number is on the top of your personnel file. Every time you check into a lab level, it’s right at the top when you pull it up. You know, with your chip?” She held up her arm._

_“Chip? No, I don’t—"_

_“You’re really green, aren’t you? Just use whatever identification method got you down here and scan it where you got instructions. You **did** get instructions?” Rose felt her face burn. _

_“Right. Thanks.” Rose turned around and left, flustered._

_One trip to the assignment kiosk later, she returned with the number. It had taken several hurried and uncomfortable phone calls before she was able to speak with Pete’s secretary and get her number—her record hadn’t shown up, presumably because she wasn’t scheduled for the day, so she’d had to ask for an impromptu unpaid shift._

_She walked back into the lab, trying for the air of confidence that got the Doctor past so many locked doors._

_“Hello again. My num—” It wasn’t the bored technician from before. Instead, a man with jowls like a bulldog was standing there. He stared at her, not even trying to mask his expression of confusion bordering on hostility._

_“You’re not scheduled to come in today,” he said flatly. “We don’t have anyone until afternoon.”_

_“I—my schedule was changed last minute. See?” She held it out. He took it from her, clearly suspicious. She tried a charming smile. “Says right here, Rose Tyler, room 17-S4-B2.”_

_He grunted. “What do you need?’_

_“So—I had some tests done last week and I’m here for the results.” He looked skeptical._

_“Medical ID?”_

_“My number is 39-21-377.” He went over to one of the computers in the walls._

_“Sorry, afraid I can’t help you.”_

_“What? Why—"_

_“Says here you don’t have clearance,” he said._

_She sputtered. “Clearance? But— they’re **my** tests!”_

_“No clearance, no information release.”_

_“But—”_

_“You’re Rose Tyler, yes? The mysterious Rose Tyler, down to grace us with your presence.” She flushed. Sometimes she forgot that here she was a gold-digging protégé, not a nobody from the estates._

_“Says here you only have level three clearance, and any biological information gathered from subject 39-21-377 can only be released to someone with level seven clearance and a STEEL pre-authorization.”_

_“But I **am** subject 39-21-37. I have a right to know my results,” she protested, feeling her cheeks burn even more._

_He chuckled incredulously._

_“What are you getting on about? S39-21-377 is classified bio-engineered under GenCon 7. ‘All bio-info of government-employed gen-mods belongs to their respective governments' and Torchwood by extension. What, you live under a rock?” Rose’s protests caught in her throat and she felt tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill all over her face and ruin any illusion of composure left. She forced out a laugh instead._

_“Yeah, something like that. Well, it was worth a go. Sorry to bother you—sorry, I didn’t even ask your name earlier.” Rule number one: have to know the locals if you want to solve anything._

_“Dr. Wellington._

_“Right, thanks for your time, Dr. Wellington.” Her voice was artificially bright, even to her own ears. She smiled again and walked out, still clutching the useless schedule._

…

Jackie Tyler woke up to the sound of her husband’s breathing next to her. Oh, she loved him, but the man could snore. She checked the clock. 6:17 am. _Now that’s a blessed relief._ Thirteen whole minutes left. She scooted in closer to Pete. He was so warm. She lay there with him for bit and considered letting him keep on snoring, but who was she kidding? It could be her very last day on the planet. (Who’d have thought, her, Jackie Tyler, fighting for the Earth?) She sat up and leaned over Pete, sticking an arm down on the other side of him to steady herself and started to slowly kiss him awake, layering his eyelids and cheeks and nose with soft pecks.

“Love?” Pete’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Hush.” She continued smothering his face with kisses. If this was her last chance to do this, wild horses wouldn’t drag her away. 

“Jackie—” She cut him off by planting one on his lips, and he responded by pulling her down and rolling over to continue snogging her. God, she loved him. They broke apart to catch their breath, and she heard Pete inhale more deliberately. _So he’s remembered what day it is, now, has he?_

“Jacks?” He started to sit up, but she pulled him down again.

“Not yet, love.” Talk about Torchwood and the end of the world was not going to steal this moment from her. She lay her head on his chest and Pete seemed to understand and agree, because he said nothing. He stroked her hair, and they lay there together in the silence as the alarm clock counted down the minutes.

Jackie broke the silence two minutes before the alarm was set to go off.

“Suppose—suppose we take Tony with us?” They had planned to let him sleep in while Denise, a member of the staff, watched the home. She was to take him to nursery school. Jackie lifted her head to get a look at him. She could just start to make out Pete’s expression in the grey morning light. He craned his neck to look down at her and paused briefly before answering.

“Of course, love. Thought you didn’t want to wake him?”

“I didn’t, it’s just—well, if this is our last time, I’d rather he sees us together so he doesn’t think I went swanning off or something. And—” She paused, and he waited without interrupting. “And—I just don’t think I could leave him. He’s my baby, just as much as my Rose is, and I don’t think I could bear it, going off with him still asleep and all, like I didn’t care to see his face and tell him goodbye. And I thought Rose might want to see him one last time.”

Pete didn’t answer but kissed her on the forehead. She felt him give her a quick squeeze, then he made to get up. Jackie reluctantly eased back as he sat up. Pete pulled back the duvet and crossed the room to turn off the alarm before it could go off. He left the blinds closed.

They didn’t bother making the bed and got dressed. Pete had packed his work things the night before, and Jackie didn’t need to take anything, so they were ready in a painfully short time. She did her hair and makeup, waffling a bit on whether or not it was practical to wear earrings before deciding that it didn’t matter. Torchwood would tell her if it was wrong, and besides, these were from Pete, the very first jewelry he gave her (after the wedding ring, of course—she wore two).

“Shall I go downstairs and make some hot chocolate for Tony?” Pete asked as he finished lacing his shoe.

“Oh yes, and won't you make some for me while you're at it? I’m all jittery and I don’t think a cuppa would calm me down,” she said, putting an earring in.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink before the jump, love.” Pete stood up to leave.

“No, I asked. Said they’d worked out something for nausea. The old procedure’s only for special cases, they said.”

“Alright,” he said, lingering at the doorframe. “Two cups of hot chocolate, coming up.”

“Make sure you put Tony’s in one of the new cups, one of the ones with the straws. I’ve been meaning to throw out the old ones—bad for the mouth.” She finished with the other earing and put on lip gloss.

“Of course, Jacks.” She saw his reflection smile, then he turned and went downstairs.

Jackie took her time as she went down to Tony’s room. They’d chosen to have him on the same level as them, but at the end of the long hallway. Didn’t want him hearing anything he shouldn’t. The walls were mauve—such a lovely color. She knew Pete hated it, but the old Jackie had loved it, and he hadn’t repainted it after she…well, after she passed. He was such a romantic, keeping it up instead of repainting with a decent color. Jackie knew the color wasn’t fashionable, but she privately agreed with the old Jackie. No matter what universe in, she had good taste. Anyways, she was unique—let any naysayers chew on that. Jackie Tyler, the inimitable. She stopped when she got to the first photo.

Just like the paint, “fashionable” didn’t apply to the photos on the walls—too many to be arranged elegantly. You’d hardly see them in an interior design magazine. She didn’t care, though—what’s the point of living in a bleedin’ mansion if you don’t have the liberty to make it feel like a home?

She took a look at one of her favorites: it was at their wedding (‘vow renewal’ according to the tabloids). All of the proper cake-cutting pictures had been taken, but Pete had been hanging back shy. (She loved her wedding day—everything she’d dreamed of, the dress, the venue, but it had been harder for Pete than for her. She’d had twenty years, after all, and he’d only had three).

She’d gone over to where he was sitting and surprised him with a bite of cake, getting icing all over his face. He tried to retaliate by smearing it back on her with a snog, but the kiss was sweet and she didn’t really offer much resistance despite her ruined makeup. While they were drunk on each other, Rose snapped the picture. The gossip pages may have got the official, elegant shots, but Rose had taken the best one: neither of them aware, kissing and laughing like childhood sweethearts, icing everywhere. And the look Pete was giving her? It was like she was his whole world. Pete made her feel like that: valuable. It almost didn’t matter that they had twenty years of missing memories.

Jackie touched the frame fondly and stood back to look at her favorite photos: their first family dinner, Tony taking his first steps, one of Pete’s many culinary creations, vacation at the seaside, Tony in his crib, asleep, maternity shopping, and so many candid photos. They were arranged in roughly chronological order, which meant the closer she got to Tony’s room, the fewer pictures of Rose there were.

 _Rose_. Why that girl insisted on living in that _spartan_ flat baffled her. Of course, everyone had to make their own way at some point, and she couldn’t fault Rose a little independence, but there was a difference between independence and just plain stubbornness. Why live alone when there was a perfectly comfortable room for her here? Rose’s flat wasn’t a home, it was a barracks. Somewhere you sleep, not somewhere you live. Holidays and birthdays, that’s how often Jackie saw her these days.

Sometimes she wondered if she didn’t have a ghost for a daughter. _It’s the end of the world, for chrissakes!_ That’s when people ought to go home to family, not run away from it _._ _Oh,_ _Rose_. She always did get completely wrapped up in whatever she was doing. _But it’s no good to practically abandon your family over it._ At least she was Jackie’s daughter—one of these days she might manage to knock some sense into that girl.

Jackie lingered at the last photo. She was about to leave to wake up Tony when she had a flash of inspiration. She walked over to a relatively recent photo—one of her favorites, taken at Tony’s third birthday party—and took the frame off the wall. Balancing the frame on her knee, she opened it up and removed the picture from the inside. She replaced the back, leaned the frame against the wall, and put the picture in the pocket of her jacket.

Tony didn’t stir when she cracked the door open. Light from the hallway flooded in as she entered. Tony was fast asleep in his bed—seemed only yesterday she was laying him in his cot under the glowing star stickers. Rose's handiwork. Jackie untangled him from his bedding. He was boiling warm, a little furnace fresh from his blankets. He stirred as she sat down and picked him up, but then lay his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes again.

She lingered, feeling his weight on her chest. This was why she was fighting. Tony deserved to grow up in a world with stars in the sky, where there were fish in the ocean, where he wasn’t afraid to look up.

“Tony? You know your mummy’s going to leave today. She’s going to do something scary and dangerous, but it’s worth it. She’s going to try and save the stars for you.” She lay her cheek down on top of his little head and stroked his back. Rose had explained to her about the stars—how their light had to travel millions and billions of years to reach them, and how looking at them was a little like time travel. (She had hoped that would make Rose feel a little more at home, even if they were in different places, but then the bloody things had gone and started blinking out). Those stars—they could have died a _hundred_ years ago, and their light was still hanging in the sky. Jackie was sure she’d learned that in school once, but it had been so long. How far ago the stars were, though—that’s how they knew something was wrong. 

“The stars are going out across time. That’s silly, isn’t it?” she cooed, lifting her head to look down at him. He didn’t say anything, but blinked at her with bleary eyes. “It’s the oldest ones that are supposed to go out, but instead it’s the farthest ones. Gone before their time. Isn’t that silly? All the young ones burning out? Oh, what do you know? You haven’t even met your gran.”

“I know you,” he piped, his voice slurring.

“I’m your mum, silly. Little boys are supposed to know their mummies,” she said, tickling his ribs. He giggled and started to writhe in her arms.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said when they stopped. “There’s a man out there, and he’s called the Doctor. He’s an alien, but the good kind. Like a superhero. Your mummy’s going to find him. We’re going to put the stars back,” she said, emphasizing the last words and tapping his nose playfully for each word.

“Mummy’s going to take you to Daddy’s work, how about that? And I’ll take you to see Rose.”

“Rose…is gonna—see me?” Tony’s brow was furrowed in confusion. “But she said bye.”

What was that girl thinking? That settled it. Jackie was going to surprise Rose. Who didn’t want to say goodbye to their baby brother? Still, best not to get his hopes up.

“We’ll see, darling. Mummy’s going to try. Rose is very busy. She has lots of important things to do.” Too important, Jackie thought. Rose had been putting on airs and graces since she moved out, as if Jackie hadn’t raised her for nineteen years on a single income. Family was supposed to come first.

She stepped lightly as she took him downstairs in his jim jams, through the kitchen, and out to the car. Pete was already there, and he opened the car for her like a gentleman. She lay Tony in his car seat and buckled him in. He didn’t squirm as much as usual. Pete came by and placed the hot chocolate in his chubby little hands. Jackie leaned over and kissed Tony on the forehead before closing the door.

“I’ve got one more thing I need to do before we go,” she told Pete, and headed back inside. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer before going to their office space, where she pulled out a punched pocket. She took out the picture of Tony’s birthday, lay it on the plastic for size, then put it aside and cut out the corner of the plastic. The photograph slid in to fit inside perfectly. Jackie put the picture back in her jacket pocket and went back to the kitchen. She binned the extra plastic, returned the scissors, and shut the door behind her as she went to the car. She may have all her pictures on her mobile, but Rose rarely took pictures these days. If her daughter was going to stay behind in another universe, she was going to take a picture of her whole family, like it or not.

Pete started the car, and she got in and pulled out her mobile. She messaged Rose. “ _Rose, love. Coming to Torchwood. Bringing Tony so you can say goodbye.”_ It felt like her family was being torn apart all over again like that day in Canary Wharf. Half her heart on the other side of the universe, even if it only looked like a wall in between them. Even if she’d forced Pete to go back for Rose, he hadn't brought all of her back: that girl had left some of her soul in the place they'd left behind. Jackie had been fighting for years to keep their patched-up family together, and it might all fall apart today. But Jackie Tyler know one thing: if she was going to have to choose between her children, one needed her more than the other. She hoped to God she wouldn’t have to leave him behind.

* * *

_And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?_  
_Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?_  
_Have you remembrances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?_  
_Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?_  
_Tell me, have you these in your houses?_  
_Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master?_

“On Houses”  
Excerpt from _The Prophet_  
Kahlil Gibran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, so smut. It’s not my thing and this fluff is about the closest I get to it, so just gonna put that out there if you’re hoping for later sexy times with Ten and Rose.
> 
> I’m going to do some tag wrangling now that I have a clearer picture of what’s going to be important in the story. My goal is still to get the Doctor from “End of Time” in the metacrisis Doctor’s body and deal with everything that happened, but I’ve been thinking it might be better to pause after Bad Wolf Bay and make this a series. Part two would follow Rose and the Doctor in Pete’s world as they get their bearings and rebuild their relationship, as well as how they deal with the aftermath of the Dimension Cannon project in a world rocked by cybermen. Thoughts?
> 
> In other news, I will be going out of town next week. The next chapter has been a bit of a doozy to work on and since I still don’t have a buffer, I don’t believe I’ll be able to update next Tuesday. Updates on my writing situation will be posted at [my tumblr](https://slippingbetweenthestars.tumblr.com), and important ones will be added to the bottom of this note should something come up that prevents me from posting. (Posted on 7/21/20)
> 
> Lastly, I wanted to thank everyone who has read this story, left kudos, or commented. It means a lot to me that y'all are willing to read my work and that I've written something you enjoy. Your feedback is very appreciated. Feel free to note what doesn't work, or any grammar/spelling typos I've missed.


	6. Never Trouble to Deny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

* * *

_She hadn’t told Jackie. Didn’t seem like the kind of problem shouting could fix. That left Pete. Bad enough he was her best option for a Torchwood job, she had to ask him to pull strings for her—"outside channels,” he’d called it. Nepotism in action. She hated feeling so **dependent** —like she was some child still in nappies. _

_Still—ever since they’d explained the danger of dimension hopping without something like the TARDIS to protect her from the radiation bath, she’d felt contaminated somehow, all that poison seeping into her. She couldn’t get that sight out of her head—Mickey and Pete all covered in void stuff. She’d jumped three times, no anti-radiation drugs or protective underlayer to protect her, unlike Pete and Mickey. There was no sonic scan and quick trip to the medbay to figure it out: she would have to rely on Pete if she wanted to know anything about how her body had been affected._

_It had taken four months._

_Turned out there was no danger from the Void. Instead, she’d been served a notice saying that under Geneva Bio-Convention Seven, her body, along with all associated genetic information, was classified as Torchwood’s intellectual property due to the presence of severe biological anomalies and would be registered appropriately according to article 5._

_She didn’t tell her mum about the letter._

_Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and went to work. It took a year and a half, but she fought and charmed and worked her way up until she earned her level seven security clearance. By talking with everyone she could, she followed the breadcrumbs and found the right projects, and after three and a half months, she had her STEEL preauthorization. Almost immediately, she regretted it—everything about the work chilled her blood and turned her stomach. In an ironic twist of fortune, the stars offered her a way out when they started to die, and she made herself indispensable even as the world started falling apart._

…

Rose was seeing red. White-coated people skated across the dark edges of her vision. She didn’t smile or greet them. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth—if she did, she just might have snarled. A lift door rose in front of her. Rose jabbed at the button, stiffly moved to the left, and looked aside. No need to glare down the occupants. Finally, the door opened, and more people stepped out and scuttled away. Only one person remained, a clean-cut man with a clipboard. After glancing at her, he wisely shuffled over to the corner and busied himself in his notes. She stepped in.

Rose fumbled for her keycard and shoved it at the wall. She hit the button for sublevel two before the screen could flash approval. A growl escaped her as the instructions apologized and told her to try again. _Breathe._ _Can’t change a machine by glaring at it._ This time, she forced herself to deliberately scan the card and count to three before pressing the sublevel 2 button. They rose. Floor three. The man stepped out, avoiding her gaze. Floor two. The doors opened and revealed a small clump of people. They scattered as she stepped through them. As she walked, she could feel her clothes rubbing at the tingling spot on her back. _How dare they. They’d **actually**_ — _without telling me_. _Just cut me open, stitched it in._ _Like I’m—somebody’s dog, or…_ _I just— **sat** there…and let them_ _…._ She kept going. Straight, right, two lefts, and a right again. Dr. Walker’s lab.

Rose pushed open the door with more naked fury than she’d ever let show at Torchwood before. Someone was going to answer for authorizing this. She entered, and stopped. The lab was surprisingly empty. Besides Dr. Walker, there were only two frazzled technicians, looking like they were doing the work of four. No one looked up when she entered. So empty, and it was at least twice as big as the room where she—where _they_ …. Worse set up, though. Not even a curtain to change behind. Different machinery, same chair. The attached office was dark. Where was everyone? Dr. Walker liked a barebones staff, but this was a bit much.

“Close the door behind you.” It was Dr. Walker. She was younger than one might expect for a senior medical officer, maybe late thirties, with close-cropped, greying hair and straight-forward steel-rimmed glasses. She wore her white coat with the authority of battledress.

“Jacket off,” Dr. Walker said, barely glancing over her shoulder as Rose entered. Rose recoiled. _No, it’s not enough to be shoved_ _with_ _a tracker_. _On top of that, I have to let_ _dead-eyed_ _Walker feel me over._ Part of Rose wanted to simply ignore her. She could just fold her arms and not do it. An image flashed in her mind: sweet Jialing upstairs, busy readying the dimension cannon. An end in sight. _The sooner this is over, the sooner I can **get out**_.

She scrabbled for the zipper and struggled out of her jacket. When she finished yanking her arms free, she tossed it onto a plastic chair by the wall with a huff. She turned to inform Dr. Walker that she was finished, but before Rose could form the words, Dr. Walker signaled her over with a curt wave. On the counter next to her was a small cup. The doctor was opening up a packet. Inside were some white swabs and tubes. _A_ _cheek_ _swab? Really?_

Rose crossed the room. She kept her tone level. “I could do this on my own. When I get ready.” Taking the cup of mouthwash, she swirled it around her mouth nonchalantly, trying not to look too ridiculous.

“And waste both of our time. It’s not as if a locker room offers anything that this lab lacks.” Rose spit out the mouthwash. _Sure,_ _nothing at all. Only some privacy_. Dr. Walker reached over. “Open up.”

She took Rose by the jaw. Dr. Walker’s gloved hand was rigid and firm. At the doctor’s pressure, Rose opened her mouth and avoided eye contact as she took the buccal sample. She was surprisingly gentle as she rubbed the swab in delicate circles across Rose’s cheek and gums. Still, Rose’s whole body was tense as she waited for the doctor to finish. _She doesn’t even need a DNA sample to prep me—what’s she playing at?_ It was cold without her jacket.

Dr. Walker released her and placed the swab in a tube-like plastic container. Rose waited as she finished handling it, then brought out a second swab and repeated the procedure. Despite Dr. Walker’s gentleness, Rose’s mouth still felt a little raw by the time she finished. Fortunately, the feeling faded quickly enough. One bright side to this mess. Dr. Walker directed her to the patient’s chair with a dismissive gesture and busied herself with the samples. Rose walked over and sat down on the side, letting her legs dangle. She was grateful to leave behind the awkward lockstep for a moment; talking to Dr. Walker felt like they were waltzing without having ever agreed on who would lead.

One of the technicians brought over a tray with some syringes, tweezers, and other medical equipment. Her name might have been Emily. Rose thought she was in training to be a doctor; she wasn’t sure. It was absurdly difficult to get a word in when Dr. Walker was in the room on a normal day; today she didn’t have it in her to try. Probably-Emily reached over wordlessly, took Rose’s blood pressure, pulse and temperature, and recorded in on her e-chart, slim and silver. She quietly asked Rose to lean forward, and after rubbing her stethoscope to warm it up, she lifted Rose’s shirt and pressed it to a few points on her back, then wrote more on the chart. As she worked, the male technician excused himself and left the lab. Before Rose could thank her, she scurried off. _If just **one more** person treats me like I’m some stray they’re about to put down, I’ll scream_.

Dr. Walker walked back over with her own e-chart. “Your urine is still showing signs of trycederine, so it’s not safe to give you a new dose of an anti-nausea in case they interact. That leaves Kenatol and fenzrinotaphanel to combat anxiety, Selaprine to counteract any drowsiness, and amenatophol for dizziness. It may have some overlap with the trydecerine, but side effects should be mild enough, considering. The other medications and the supplements should be unaffected, so we’ll carry on as usual with them. And you haven’t been having headaches return with the recent uptick in jump frequency?”

Rose shook her head. “No.”

“Good. Even with your metabolism, I shudder to think what Etranalel would do with the Selaprine.” She made a note on the e-chart and went to the cabinets along one wall. Rose remembered her early jumps, before they’d worked out anything to counter the side effects. They had been nothing short of awful. She’d honestly thought she was going to die the first time she landed. Almost did, too—she’d fallen to her knees in the middle of a road right after she appeared. Poor sod thought he’d had too much to drink and hit her. He couldn’t stop apologizing as he got out to help her up.

Working out the right combination of drugs wasn’t much better—no one was quite sure what to make of her metabolism, and new additions often reacted violently. She remembered when they were still trying to land on a good anti-radiation drug—they’d eventually given up after one of the drugs made her whole body seize up. She’d been racked with uncontrollable muscle spasms and dreadful cramps, and was unable to get out of bed for two days. Thank God for Mickey. Dr. Walker was hopping mad for weeks because no one could work out why her body had reacted the way it did. _Didn’t seem to bother her that I was in pain, though. Just that my reaction was_ _freaky._

Rose could see Dr. Walker retrieving medicine from the cabinets. As she turned to come towards the patient’s chair, she simply looked…busy. Businesslike. Not like a banker or solicitor—that lot acted like it was their professional duty to smile at you like they had nothing more important to do than rescue you from all those messy little details of financial transfers and wills. Just oozing charm that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the depth of her pockets. No, Dr. Walker just looked harried, like the secretaries and personal assistants flitting around Pete’s colleagues, trying to pick up the chewed-up bits of appointments left in their wake as they plowed on after whatever struck their fancy. Except she wasn’t arranging schedules, she was staring at charts and planning tests, setting things in store for Rose.

It would have been nice if for once someone _else_ could have prepped her for the jump. It wasn’t as if any of the drugs needed _her_ to personally administer them. Even Rose had basic training on administering shots for advanced first aid. Dr. Walker walked over. Despite her momentum, she didn’t send the rolling stool flying as she sat down next to Rose, but managed to sit down and deposit several vials on the tray next to her in one smooth motion. Rose almost found herself admiring her, until Dr. Walker looked up.

It was like she wasn’t there. Dr. Walker was looking at Rose, sure enough, but with the all the detachment of purchasing a refrigerator. It wasn’t like the teenagers on the street—she’d had her share of encounters with packs of marauding boys, all catcalling and whistling like she was a wayward pet, nor was it like the way men’s eyes roved past her face and across her chest and body when she visited Jimmy at his gigs in the pub. That felt like she was a piece of meat; Dr. Walker looked at her like she was a cadaver on a dissection table. Just as suddenly as she looked up, her eyes were back on the chart, which she was balancing on her leg. She reached out and took Rose’s arm. Removing the dressing, she examined the still-numb spot, and nodded as she rubbed her thumb over the healed-over puncture.

She let go of Rose’s arm and started muttering to herself as she wrote on the chart with a stylus. “…less than twenty minutes…no sign of hematoma…consistent with previous…” She started tapping her leg with her left hand. “…still noticeable scarring…implies limits…recommend fatigue testing…” Oh, _that_ sounded like fun. _Just how much of all this circus freak show is she responsible for?_ The momentary calm from earlier was burning up faster than morning mist under the sun. The chair was sticky under her sweating palms. She could hear an old-fashioned clock ticking down the seconds in the corner. Tick. ... _subject shows_... Tick. ... _require more_... Tick. ... _resistance to_... Tick.

Before she knew it, the words slipped out.

“I don’t get it. Just…doesn’t make sense.” Her words hung in the empty air.

Dr. Walker’s face was nearly inscrutable. Her lip curled ever so slightly, and her eyebrow seemed to twitch up a hair’s width, but she looked back down at her work. Rose pushed on.

“Not the drugs. I mean, this,” she said, gesturing around her, “ 's all so normal. Done it a thousand times.” _Not properly normal—still Torchwood—but routine at least._ She shook her head, still leaning back against the chair. “And I’ve come back fine, well enough for those puppeteers in S3. Clean record." She could hear her voice getting louder in her ears. "Yet someone decided that's not good enough. This time they’d shove some metal in my back, record m’ every move. Thought I needed an _upgrade._

“You didn’t think—“ Rose snorted derisively, “none of you thought, oh, I dunno, ‘maybe someone ought to tell Rose ‘we’ve elected to ignore her and sew a blinkin’ tracker under her skin.’” She sat up, the paper on the chair crinkling as she approached Dr. Walker’s eye level. The woman didn’t lean back or move away. “I don’t care what GenCon Seven says. Doing something like that without even tellin’ me ’s wrong. ‘S just wrong. Who even came up with this?” Her hands curled around the fabric of her trousers.

“ ‘S what, the size of a 2p coin? A lot bigger than what you lot are just shoving up your veins. Not the kind of thing you have just lyin’ round the office. Or maybe you do. What, d’you just sit around all day, waitin’ to get your hands on a new specimen to slice up?” She hated how her clenched hands trembled. Why was that woman so still?

“The subcutaneous implant was necessary,” Dr. Walker said, not bothering to look up as she drew medicine from the vial.

“Necessary.” Rose made a small noise halfway between a cough and a laugh. “Necessary to chip me like I‘m some mutt at the pound. What, scared ‘m gonna run off with my tail between my legs?” Dr. Walker didn’t so much as blink as she reached for a second syringe. “I’ve been on what? Over eighty jumps? Been runnin’ on my own for years. Didn’t I come back every damn time to this freak show? ‘Oh, we’re all _so_ protective of Rose Tyler now that her harebrained schemes might just work.’ Can’t let her off on her own. ‘S not like you ever cared before. Shook m’ body into atoms _so many_ times and not a peep. Only now d’you get cold feet?” Rose was breathing hard as she came to a stop. Her heart raced. 

“Are you quite finished?” Dr. Walker finally stopped what she was doing and fixed a pointed look at Rose. “How did you arrive on this world?” she asked bluntly.

“Wh—you can’t—that’s classified.” Rose felt mutinous.

“Not to me, it isn’t. I’m the one who approves any and everything related to ‘Rose Tyler’— your body and every radioactive waste you drag it through is my business.” She looked down, checked the syringe against the e-chart, and began filling it up. A protest got lodged in Rose’s throat. _She can’t—she doesn’t even see anything wrong with that sentence!_ Without looking up, Doctor Walker raised an eyebrow and spoke. “I asked you a question.”

Rose wanted to strangle her. Instead, she bit back a blistering reply and said, as blandly as she could manage, “I jumped from a parallel universe using a dimension hopper.”

“Arm.” Rose stuck out her arm as Dr. Walker prepared to inject her. “And, pray tell, how did you end up with a dimension hopper around your neck?” She stuck the needle in and started to depress the plunger.

Rose gritted her teeth. “Pete Tyler put it around my neck.”

“And stopped you from falling into the void.” Dr. Walker removed the needle with a deft motion and placed gauze over the spot. “Lucky for us, he caught you.” Her cool tone almost masked the sarcasm. She secured the gauze with a plaster. “Now tell me, Rose Tyler, if someone can slap a dimension hopper on you with such ease, what on earth would stop someone from taking it off? Or from taking it in a scuffle? Or you from losing it through a hole in your pocket?" The silence was damning. Dr. Walker picked up another syringe and moved over to Rose’s other side. "Without the coordinates you set _with that tracker_ , everything falls apart, or have you forgotten that?” Rose put out her arm before Dr. Walker could require it. The doctor took it and cleaned the injection site with an alcohol wipe.

“As trying as it is that we’ve outsourced our salvation to another dimension, project Molehill may be the best solution Torchwood can offer. It’s bad enough that biology only gave us _—_ ” her lip curled in distaste _—_ “ _one_ user for the dimension cannon. Worse that only two others are even capable of following, and to add insult to injury, have you forgotten they can’t so much as _land_ without you?” Rose felt the burning sting as the needle went into her arm.

“Yet Rose Tyler would consider jeopardizing the entire mission because the device integral to mission success makes her feel icky.” She held Rose’s gaze for a moment before dismissing it with pursed lips. She finished with the shot before walking over to get more supplies. Rose felt like the air had been knocked straight from her lungs. _She—maddening woman—can barely tell between her and a cyberman—all that’s missing are earpods._

“If that’s a tough pill for you to swallow, better get it over with. You’re beyond the age of cherry syrup.” Dr. Walker set a cup full of pills on the tray next to her and made some more notes on the e-chart. That woman had no idea. _No. Idea_. Without going for water, Rose lifted her chin, reached over, and downed the cup in one dry swallow. One of the pills coated her mouth in a horribly bitter taste, and she could feel one of the larger pills catch uncomfortably in her throat, but she was not going to let that woman get a stitch of satisfaction from her. After putting the cup down, she swung her legs back over the side and made to get down. At the rustling paper, Dr. Walker glanced over with a cutting look.

“We haven’t finished yet. I still need to examine your stitches.”

...there was _still_ more? “I…I’m just going to take my shirt off.” Dr. Walker looked surprised, but there was a strange note of approval in her eyes. _So she doesn’t get off ordering people around, she just expects us to read her mind._ Rose walked over to the chair where her jacket was laying. _No wonder she’s always foul_. She tugged the shirt over her head and laid it on top of the jacket, never mind the two other people in the room. She walked back with slow drag of someone walking through wet sand and sat down on the side of the patient’s chair.

Putting her weight on heels of her hands, Rose leaned back and swung her legs onto the chair again. She scooted backwards and settled against the chair. She hated the things—made her feel too small, vulnerable. Out of control.

Dr. Walker finished what she was doing at the same time and came back over. “Be still,” she said as she tilted the chair back. Rose just sat there, feeling it slowly tip out from underneath her. She shifted, trying to keep a stable angle. The chair was pressing at the sensitive lump on her back. The skin there was still tingling like an hours-old anesthetic patch. She felt her breath speeding up in spite of herself. Her palms were clammy.

“And I need to see your back.” Right. _Roll over, Rover_. The waxed paper was scratchy as she turned over. Her skin stuck to the chair where the paper ended, and she could feel herself rise and fall with each breath.

When she was a child, she’d played hide-and-go-seek; since she was one of the better hiders, over the years she’d spent hours in the dark, waiting to be found. She couldn’t forget the sensation of being curled up, arms or legs pressed to her chest in a dark space—under the sink, in the linen closet, under the bed. Somehow in those small spaces, all her breath came in greedy gulps, hot and shallow and unforgivably loud as one moment stretched into the other and she just _waited_ in the growing dread until she wanted to throw the game and show herself just to escape the sound of her own breathing. She never did—too competitive—but lying belly-down as a white coat with cold hands handled her impersonally for the second time today, her mind returned to hide-and-seek. Had her breath always been so loud, competing with the blood in her ears?

Something _pressed_ against the spot on her back and prickles erupted in a wave of ants swarming over her skin. She couldn’t help it. She flinched, jerking away from the hand. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms were standing straight up.

Somewhere, a short, frustrated sigh met her ears. “Miss Tyler, could you kindly hold still for a moment?” That was Dr. Walker. Rose was in a chair, in her lab, in Torchwood. She could feel her arms and legs. She could keep herself still. _Come on, Rose._ _You’ve got lungs. You might care to use them_. At a different time she might even be tempted to smile at that thought. She took a deep breath.

This time, one of Dr. Walker’s hands cupped around her shoulder blade, pressing down as the other hand touched the spot. Somehow, the sensation eased some of Rose's clenched tension. She still had a body beyond that alien spot. The hand stroked her stitches; she could feel the finger catch on the sutures as it dragged across them and squeezed the lump. She shuddered as tingles shot down her spine and something jerked somewhere deep behind her navel. It just felt so _wrong_.

“…don’t know what possessed them….honestly, a dermal regenerator? …no notes, not even how long he used it…shoddy…how am I supposed to note rate of healing...” Dr. Walker muttered to herself as she probed Rose’s back. It was as if she’d forgotten Rose was under her hands in full earshot, but for the moment, it was a relief to be ignored. She wouldn’t have to spell out what happened all over again. Dr. Walker finished her examination, then spoke.

“My… _associates_ …downstairs in their infinite wisdom decided to use a dermal regenerator to accelerate healing on the incision. Since they took no concern for your unique biology, the skin’s over-healed. The topical anesthetic has also worn off at too fast a rate. It will sting when I take the sutures out.”

Rose didn’t trust her voice. Instead, she nodded her acknowledgement instead and craned her neck to the left so she could see what tools Dr. Walker was using. She watched as a blue-gloved hand selected some tweezers and rose out of view. There was a sharp, tugging sensation, and the hand was back for scissors. The pressure didn’t let up, and started to burn for a second too long before subsiding. The hand returned, depositing thread on the tray. Gone again. Another pinching tug shot out little bursts of pain from the spot. She set her jaw. It felt like someone had used her skin as a dartboard and was trying to pull out the darts, but found them barbed and unwilling to slide out. It was unpleasant, but she found the pain was almost preferable to the tingling from earlier. It felt more real, somehow. Less like some burrowing parasite had fixed itself to her. Less like that… _thing_ …she’d seen on Donna.

Rose watch the little clump of threads on the tray grow until Dr. Walker finished. When the woman indicated she was done, Rose pushed herself of the chair back, flipped over, and sat up before the chair could bring her forward. When the chair returned to its original position, she didn’t lean back against it. Dr. Walker was busy with the chair, but Rose could tell there was some sort of reprimand on her lips, so she stopped short of getting down and waited. _Let’s hear what the commander has to say_.

“You’re not finished—” she saw that Rose wasn’t getting down. “Good.” She moved over to face Rose. “Go ahead, you can sit how you like.” Rose decided she would feel better facing the doctor and twisted to let her legs dangle over the side. Dr. Walker looked at her appraisingly, and almost seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking. Then the expression fled and Rose wondered if she’d imagined it.

“The device implanted next to your scapula is designed to track your location and transmit your coordinates. I haven’t the slightest understanding of the mechanics, so you’ll have to ask someone on the Molehill project to explain it.” Her words were brisk, and Rose thought she looked uncomfortable without anything for her hands to do. "It should react to the jumping process and will automatically activate upon your arrival."

She continued tonelessly. “Additionally, it is designed to monitor various vitals: pulse, blood oxygen and respiration rate, perspiration. The device also measures certain hormone levels in the bloodstream, which will be used to establish a baseline and understand how your body reacts to stressors. It will be a useful analytic tool. We’ll have a number of tests planned for your return, assuming nothing fails with project Molehill,” she said flatly. Rose expected Dr. Walker to stare her down, daring her to argue. Fat chance. She felt like a damp rag, limp and with her emotions all wrung-out.

Rose looked at her hands and waited for dismissal. When she realized Dr. Walker had grabbed the e-chart and was back to writing, she moved over and slid off the chair. When the doctor didn’t look up, she walked over to where her shirt and jacket lay. She shivered. Still cold in here. Glancing back towards the chair where the Dr. Walker was still writing, she noticed the technician look away from her. _None of your business_. She pulled her top on mechanically and reached for her jacket. Wrapping it around her, she made for the door.

“You’re finished with me, yeah?” No response save a quick nod without looking up. “I’m just gonna…leave.” Nobody was stopping her. She opened the door, stepped through, and eased it shut behind her.

…

Dr. Elaine Walker heard the door close and relaxed as Rose Tyler sulked off. She was relieved, pleased even, to have thoroughly shut down the girl’s protests before having to explain the full function of the tracker. Small victory. The girl’s outburst was strangely comforting. At least Dr. Walker still had enough foresight to predict that kind of reaction. Thank goodness the girl never cried—that would be nigh unbearable.

As for _why_ the Tyler girl insisted on wasting precious time throwing a fit over an _already completed_ procedure, she had no idea. For heaven’s sake, it was utterly futile. She knew it was childish, but she couldn’t help feel a little stab of victory that she’d known just the words to silence the girl’s outrage. That would teach her what kind of monsters were about—four years and still as naïve as a schoolchild.

_…But **you** didn’t find out in time, either. And no one thought to tell you._ She hated that little voice. It was almost always right.

Her watch vibrated. Only eighteen minutes. She surveyed the lab. She still needed to clean up—she had to dispose of the sharps and sterilize the tweezers…Maybe the brunette—Emilia, was it? She should get them nametags. Dr. Walker was about to call her over, but stopped short when she glanced at the tray. No, not even for this meeting. S39-21-377 genetic material would pass through as few hands as she could manage. _Just a hair_ …it felt like a cold hand was squeezing her lungs. It was so _frustrating_ how oblivious the girl seemed. What good was one hyper-clean lab when she was using public changing rooms? She had no idea what men would cook up with her DNA. Well. Not really DNA. _And they sent her to someone else’s lab to have it done…they’re circumventing you. Why?_

That implant…the Tyler girl had come _up_ from a lower level. No, no, no. Not good at all. She cleaned up her tools as quickly as she could manage. Wipe any trace of tissue off the tweezers. Wipe the sharps, never mind they were destined to be binned. Burn the wipes. Burn the sutures. Burn the paper on the tray and the dressing for the injection and the cup that held the pills. Clean the tray again. Sterilize the tweezers and the sharps with them. Dispose of the sharps. Leave nothing behind.

Thirteen minutes. It would take at least nine and a half to get to S3. She glanced over at the intern. She hadn’t looked up. _Accustomed to my fussiness, or trying too hard to look casual?_ She couldn't tell. Never mind. She swept the space as quickly as she could and emptied the dustpan into the incinerator. Not even a hair left behind. She was just about to dispose of her gloves in the incinerator when she was seized by a thought. _The other cup!_ She went over to the sink and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just sitting there on the counter, not with the rubbish. She tossed it with her gloves in the incinerator as casually as she could manage. The intern girl looked over, looking amused. Dr. Walker quirked an eyebrow. The intern shook her head, smiling, and went on with her charts. The tension in Dr. Walker’s gut eased a little. _Better a neat freak than uncooperative and paranoid_. Her watch buzzed again. Ten minutes. For the love of Franklin, she was going to be late if she didn’t leave right now.

She grabbed her briefcase and clipped her mobile to her belt. At least the Tyler girl had the sense not to wear earpods. _Mad, the lot of them_. As she strode off, her mind fixated back on that implant. The hormone monitor…she had _expressly_ argued against it. Anyone could see that fighting the tracker would have been a losing battle—like it or not, the girl had too many expectations riding her for anything to be left to chance—but the hormone monitor…the uneasy, constricting feeling was back. She had used every dismissal that applied: untested, results not representative, not useful, results not applicable. They had seemed convinced. And yet they’d designed a dual tracker-monitor without so much as informing her. Her. Dr. Elaine Walker. Overseer of all projects related to the girl’s biology. The fact that she had no part in the decision…it was nothing short of disconcerting.

Propelled by her rumination, she arrived at the lift in record time, but with precious little time to spare. Another stroke of poor planning. No time for the stairs. She pulled her own keycard out of her pocket and scanned it. She couldn’t afford to be late. The original list of attendees hadn't included her. When she’d discovered a meeting about Rose Tyler without an invitation, she’d felt a spike of panic but managed keep up a cool, unruffled front. Of course there was a mistake. Rose Tyler was the subject known as 39-21-377, and that meant Dr. Walker was involved. Naturally, oversight caused her to slip the list. After all, she had the clearest understanding of the girl’s biology and could say which potential projects showed promise. The girl wasn’t exactly human, after all. So logical, reasonable.

It was easy enough to convince the secretary to let her in, since by all rights she should have been invited, and she already had the clearance. Bluffing her authority like that was almost second nature, built up from years of fighting for her place at the table, but the increased _frequency_ with which she’d been doing it without any real credit to support the bluff made her uneasy. There was a fine line between faking until success and a plain con, and discovered conmen lost any influence over the situation. They were kicked out and prosecuted.

Someone was working on a project with S39-21-377, and they wanted to keep Dr. Walker in the dark. Knowing Torchwood’s track record, that indicated this was precisely the type of project she needed to monitor. But carefully, carefully. After all, a large enough bump in the road was fit only to be leveled.

* * *

The title comes from Dorothy Rothschild Parker's Superfluous Advice. Since the poem is short enough to make truncating it difficult, for copyright reasons, I am linking to it rather than providing the text here. 

["Superfluous Advice," by Dorothy Rothschild Parker](https://allpoetry.com/Superfluous-Advice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All drugs are fictional because I am A Coward. Pete’s world has had a pretty different history in regard to drugs and biology.
> 
> Rose and Jackie POV next. Thank you to all who started on three chapters of Ten and have continued with Rose and Jackie. I promise, he’s coming back in a bit once the story catches up to him.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Observations, stuff you hated, stuff that stuck out? Any comment is welcome, no matter how short. I’ve loved hearing your thoughts and am open to anything, including semi-off topic discussions of the show.


	7. As Living Arrows are Sent Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! This is late, but it's extra long.

* * *

Jackie watched the Canary Wharf tower grow until she couldn’t see the top through the frame of the windshield. Since Pete was one of the Torchwood elites, they were met by a valet, who took and parked the car until Pete had to leave again. Before going in, Jackie fussed with Tony’s shoes as he struggled uncooperatively—he was going through a phase. She hadn’t bothered to put his shoes on when leaving because they’d be on the floor by the time the car arrived.

Pete got them in the doors. Jackie’s arms were still full of Tony; at three years old he was getting too big to carry comfortably, but complaints that he was too heavy were for some other day. They crossed the cavernous lobby towards the chairs next to the glass wall by the receptionist’s desk. Pete nodded and greeted the handful of people milling around.

Jackie eased into one of the armchairs, shifting Tony from her hip to her lap. Some of the business-suited people looked a little uncomfortable to find the likes of Jackie invading their coffee corner. _Heaven forbid something ‘domestic’ invade their gleaming little space_. _It’s not as if a few minutes with a toddler will turn the place into a nursery!_ Tony was starting to wiggle, so she let him down to walk around the circle of chairs. Rose would come. Jackie texted her again. _In the lobby. Tony’s excited to see you._

Pete hadn’t sat down, but was walking in little circles, tapping his thigh anxiously. She reached out for his hand, tugging on it, and he sighed and sat down next to her.

“I suppose you don’t spend much time in waiting rooms,” she teased. His eyebrows bounced and he grinned self-deprecatingly.

“Suppose I don’t. Too important for all that, you know,” he said, leaning onto the armrest.

Pete’s knee was bouncing.

“Pah, too important? Too impatient’s more like it. You show up to appointments and drive the staff mad. They only let you in early to get you out of their hair,” she said, reaching for his non-existent hair. To his credit, he didn’t so much as cringe or look embarrassed when she stroked his head with her thumb. She loved him for it: Pete Tyler never made her feel ashamed to be herself, not even when she slipped out of the high-class act and let her upbringing show.

Pete smirked. “I’m sure you have nothing to do with the staff being afraid of me.”

“Oi!” she said in mock offense. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Quite right you don’t, Jackie. You’ve never terrorized the staff in your life.”

“I never! Besides, what can they do, poor things? I go straight for the management.” Pete looked he was biting back a retort behind his grin, but he kept it in, the gentleman.

“Only the best for you.” He leaned back in his chair, before starting up to grab Tony, who’d wandered a little too close to someone’s set-down cup of coffee. He came back holding the squirming rascal and started bounced him on his knee when he sat down. _Good, put some of that nervous energy to good use_. She thought she felt her mobile buzz, and quickly moved to check it, but it was blank. No new messages. She shot another one off to Rose anyways. _You’d better be on your way._

Pete shot her a sideways glance. “She…she might not be able to make it, Jacks. She told us as much back at the house.” Jackie pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Always acting the peacemaker. Drove her barmy sometimes. Pete might go soft on Rose, but Jackie didn’t need to curry favor with her own daughter. Sometimes that called for a little tough love to keep her head out of the clouds.

Jackie looked at her husband. This second chance…it still stunned her sometimes. Not that it had been a walk in the park, figuring out how they fit together after all these years, even with all the money and resources in the world. But still…he was here, and he loved her, and she loved him back. She reached out and took his hand. “I wish…”

Pete cocked his head. “What, love?”

She bit her lip. “I…Well.” She took a breath and started again, more confidently. “I’d sure feel a lot better about this whole affair if you were coming with us, that’s all.” Pete squeezed her hand.

“You know I can’t.”

“I know, I was just thinking. Because you were there the first time, and you got us out. Now I’ve done the training and all—we could take on anything.” _And Rose couldn’t say no with both of us there_.

Pete looked at her. “Jackie,” he said, treading very carefully.

Before he could go on, Jackie cut him off. “Oh, I know. It’s useless, and besides, we have Tony. He’s too young to come with.” The other shoe couldn’t drop on her if she had them both by the laces. Pete looked like he was still full of words in that quiet, pensive way of his.

His voice came out softer and more earnest than she was expecting. “I know you’re not leaving him behind easily, Jacks. I—I wish I could come too. Truthfully, I’d worry a whole lot less where I could see you and help. It’s just—oh, Jackie, you never saw Jake.” He winced and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I’d risk it all if it meant keeping us safe and together. I just…”

“You don’t have to say it.” She got up and sat next to him on the armrest, laying her arm on his shoulder. “Besides, Tony’s a right terror waiting for you to come home. I’m not sure I could bear it if we were switched,” she said lightly. “Aren’t you? A little terror,” she said, reaching for Tony to muss his hair. He giggled and protested. Jackie got up and sat back in her own chair. She checked her mobile. No messages. _Rose, you’d better get over here and—_ she finished off the message and added a few exclamation points for added measure. Dread hit her gut with all the force of a toddler avoiding naptime. _One of them_. She was going to lose one of them. She got up again and scooped Tony off his father’s lap. _Jackie Tyler, you stop that right now_. She hadn’t clawed her way this far to dwell on those thoughts. Chin up and make her own future, that’s what she did and that’s what she was going to do.

There wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room. Least, not one she could see. She supposed the receptionist would know. Everybody else would have their earpods. She checked her mobile again. They continued to wait, making small talk and taking turns amusing Tony. Sun was starting to stream in. She sent another text. _How much longer until you get here??_

Pete’s eyes kept flitting between Tony, his wristwatch, and the door. Not much longer and Tony would be due at nursery school. _Rose, where are you? You’d better be—_ She dashed off another angry message. A few minutes passed. Someone new walked into the lobby, but not through the front door. Mickey, come to get her.

Pete made eye contact and started what sounded like an apology, but before he could get it out, she stood up and started calling Rose directly. The mobile rang in her ear. _If that girl doesn’t_ …the mobile was still ringing… _She’d better_ —the call ended and went to voicemail. _That **little**_ —if it weren’t for the public setting and Tony next to her, some words not polite for company would be reverberating through the lobby.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around. Pete. “Love, she’s not coming.” _No, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this, not at all_ — “It’s all right, honestly. We said our goodbyes already.” He looked at Tony, who was at his hip. “Didn’t we?”

As if that made it any better. “Jackie, we’re fine. Tony’s off to school, I’ll try not to lose my head thinking about you, and you and Rose are going to save the day, yeah? Trust me on this,” he said, holding up his thumb and waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, you are impossible.” She leaned over and hugged them, putting her head between Tony’s and Pete’s and trying not to tear up. Jackie pulled back and looked at Tony. “Now you be a good boy at school, all right? When mummy comes back, she’s going to tell you all about the superhero.”

“Love you, Mummy,” Tony said.

“I love you too, sweetheart." She leaned in again. "Now go on then! Off you go!” She shooed them off. Tony looked back over Pete’s shoulder and waved at her. She waved back and watched them cross the doorway, disappear into the car, and drive away.

Mickey held his distance until she was ready to turn away. His grin was infectious.

“Big day, huh?” He didn’t look half so grim as she felt.

“And I suppose this is all old hat to you,” she said, unable to hold back a smile and stepping towards him. “Experienced world hopper and all.” To her surprise, his voice dropped quiet. “Let’s keep that one down a little, shall we?” he said good-naturedly. He indicated the others in the lobby with a telling glance. She nodded back.

“Right!” she said quietly. Walls having ears and all. Mickey turned and brought her along as they crossed the lobby.

“Besides,” he said softly, “you’re just as much a world hopper as me. Got nothin’ on Rose.” Jackie felt her smile sour.

“Yes, well,” she said primly. The warmth was gone from her voice. Mickey glanced at her but didn’t say anything. They continued on down a hall with dingy lighting and a broken-down service lift next to a desk. A green exit sign glowed at the end of the hallway. They stopped and greeted Nigel—poor thing’s wife had terrible arthritis, and he seemed so lonely at his grubby desk. Reminded her of Pete’s father. He’d always been a perfect gentleman to her, even when her own parents hadn’t wanted to bless the marriage. Too sudden, they said—probably got herself knocked up, and wasn’t that a disgrace? He waved them through, and they stepped up to the lift to be scanned.

Mickey put in the floor level. Jackie was glad for his presence; heavens knew Torchwood was a maze, and he knew the place far better than she did. Still, she recognized some of the places they visited—the kiosk for instructions, the weapons outfitter and testing range. This mission wasn’t the type to wing by bluffing with a fancy gun she couldn’t shoot accurately, so she had put in some practice. The pills were new, but she hadn’t reached forty-seven without good multivitamin or two. Nothing she couldn’t swallow. Torchwood wasn’t nearly as impressive underground. She couldn’t see what the big fuss was about. _You’d think they’d have a better floorplan, or at least a map_. Spending time in the underlayers definitely dropped Torchwood’s posh reputation down a few notches in her estimation.

After they’d been checked over, armed, and prepped, they left the gloomy florescent tunnels and wound their way back to the lift.

“Hang on, we need to take a different lift.” Mickey had pulled out his schedule and pointed to a bit at the bottom. He checked the lift number and continued down the hallway. “See, that one only connects to the lobby floor. We’re leaving the basement—the upstairs lift doesn’t go down unless someone’s down here to call it.” _Torchwood and their bleedin’ coverups_. When they arrived at the lift and stepped in, sure enough, there were no basement-level buttons, only the upper levels. Up but not down. A woman in a business suit stood in the corner. Mickey put in the number and scanned his card, and she gave him an odd look. Jackie felt confused and somewhat protective—was she giving Mickey a hard time for going towards the public face of Torchwood? Mickey caught her expression and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, holding his card up. Jackie looked at it, and it clicked with her. _Oh, right, all about wearables here_.

With that, they went up to the floor where the dimension cannon—and Rose—were waiting.

…

The walls to the lift were steel. Shiny. She could almost make out her expression in the blurred, warped reflection. If she ran into the girl who’d first scarpered off with the Doctor, would she be able to recognize the woman staring back at her today? _Would the Doctor even ask…?_

What use would she be? It had been so long…seven years? eight?…since the day she stood him down and insisted a Dalek, a _Dalek_ , deserved a second chance. A Dalek locked years underground as white-coated technicians prodded at it. Tired. Seething with rage. Back when she’d first started at Torchwood, she’d worried so much about him—how was he going to make it without her? _Silly._ He’d managed for hundreds of years. It was downright selfish to worry about being replaced when his alternative was that awful loneliness. But she couldn’t quite crush down the memory of that wonderful, alive feeling—it was a _better_ life.

Today wasn’t about that life. It couldn’t be. Everyone here was riding on this jump—not just her world, but everyone in all the parallel worlds she’d jumped to. That had to count for something, right?

The lift stopped at floor three above ground. A man with gelled-back hair stepped in and held his wrist over the scanner. Rose mustered up a stiff, polite grin, and they stood in waxy silence as they continued up. The man got off a few floors before Rose did.

Rose was aiming for the 55th floor. When the doors finally opened, she stepped out into sunlight. She was the only one on the floor. She made her way to the room where the dimension cannon was waiting. Last stop. 

“Rose!” Jialing’s head popped out of the doorway, grinning. “You’re here! Come in.” She disappeared, and Rose sped up. As she walked in, she could see Jialing holding a metal box in her arms, moving precisely towards a table and setting it down neatly. Her course black hair was pulled into a low ponytail over her white coat. The space was dominated by a large, silver machine resembling a cross between a petroleum drill bit and a large stage light. The dimension cannon. Directly across from it was a large upright slab with straps hanging near the bottom.

As Rose surveyed the room, she caught Jialing turn around with a mouthful of words, take one look at Rose, and stop cold. Rose felt some of the tension drain out of her. _Bless her_. Jialing wasn’t particularly shy, but she was discrete. Instead of pressing the matter; she closed her mouth. Changing tactics and looking down at the box, she beckoned at Rose to come closer. She undid the straps of the box and opened it to reveal three buttons encased by a metal mechanism.

“I was thinking about what you said, about footprints in the sand, and I finally had that breakthrough we've been needing,” she said, picking one of the buttons up out of the black foam. “We’ve been fine with timelines, yeah? So the problem is like you said. We’re looking for a boot but forgot the footprint.”

“What do you mean? We’ve been tracing the timelines and then the TARDIS just…disappears.” Rose leaned over the box.

Jialing’s face lit up. “Yes, and that’s where I got the idea. You were talking about how we needed to get there early enough to see the footprint made, right? Before the tide comes in. Well, the problem is that whatever made the Earth disappear over there seems to have happened at the same time the TARDIS lands. Because it _is_ there, we just can’t find it.

“So if we land earlier, no TARDIS, and if we land at the right time, no Earth?”

“Yes, exactly! And we don’t want the TARDIS or Earth, we want them both." Jialing was sparkling with excitement.

“And Earth’s where the problem is, not the TARDIS. The Doctor finds the trouble, not starts it.” _Usually, anyhow_.

“Yes! So I was thinking, the problem is that we don’t have the precision to land at the right time, and we don’t know where the Earth went. But if you could trace where the TARDIS has been—”

“—you could land early and locate what caused the problem. So that’s how you did it.” Rose found herself grinning. “And of course you found a way to track the residual energy. You’re a genius, Jialing.” The other woman blushed.

“It really wasn’t that tricky, technically speaking. It’s not like we have to track across time or dimension for that, just space.”

“Yeah, but you already found a way to do all of that. I know, I know, ‘you had help.’ Still,” Rose said. Jialing smiled sheepishly. “So, how do I work it?”

Flipping over the button, Jialing explained how to activate the tracking portion of the dimension hopper. Once Rose had practiced the settings a few times, she tucked it into her jacket pocket. Jialing paused.

“Um…Rose?” she said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, but would you mind taking your jacket off so I can calibrate the hopper?”

“Of course,” Rose said, digging into her pocket and handing over the hopper before unwrapping herself. “S’no bother at all.” And for once, it really wasn’t.

Jialing attached some electrodes to the back of her neck and across her torso. Attaching them to a computer built into the wall, she plugged in the dimension hopper and started typing. There was a long, low whine, and Jialing disconnected the hopper. After disconnecting Rose from the electrodes, she handed it back to her along with her jacket. “Thanks. Oh—did you need your weapon?” Jialing asked.

“Nah, Mickey is getting it for me. Didn’t know how long prep would take.”

“Perfect.”

Rose walked over to the slab across from the dimension cannon and bent over to buckle herself in. Before she could, she noticed her boot was untied and took the opportunity to make sure both boots were triple knotted with the laces tucked into themselves.

“Rose?” She looked up. “I—I just wanted…are you okay?”

Of all the questions. _How to answer that_ …Rose considered tossing off a quick ‘Course, ‘m always okay,” but stopped short. Jialing at least deserved an explanation. She stood up.

“Not really?” She rubbed the back of her neck, wondering where to start and what to even say. “S’just…the people downstairs…they put a tracker in me without asking.” She could see Jialing’s eyes widen but she pushed on to get it out and over with. “An’ I think I know why they did it, but I’m so— _angry_ at them and I’m sick of fightin’ everyone in this stupid bureaucracy. That’s all. ‘M just tired.”

Jialing looked at her searchingly, then broke eye contact. “…that’s wrong,” she said in a quiet but firm voice. “I—I’m sorry.”

“S’not you, it’s everyone else in this damn place—sorry, know you don’t like swearing.”

“No, really. I am sorry.” Jialing locked eyes with Rose, and Rose was a little startled by the intensity in her dark eyes. She always struck Rose as the mild sort, but the look in her eyes would have rivalled Jackie’s when she found out about the haircutting incident. Rose had honestly been scared for her teacher's well-being. That look was a reminder to get out of the way when the bullets flew. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came, and Jialing reached out and squeezed Rose’s hand. It felt like a gift—no pressure to smile or fake like she was fine. Rose squeezed back with the gratitude she didn’t know how to voice.

Jialing left to set the dimension cannon, and Rose bent over to start on the straps when she heard footsteps at the door. Jackie and Mickey must have arrived. 

“I see you’re still gracing us with your presence. Almost thought you’d up and left us again.” Jackie’s voice was cool. Cold, even. Mickey looked away and walked away to set down the guns.

Rose groaned internally. _Not now_. She’d hoped they could avoid this.

“I’ve been a bit busy, Mum.”

“I gathered. So busy you couldn’t spare two minutes to call and say goodbye to your brother.” Rose swallowed a retort and continued tightening the straps about her ankles like she couldn’t hear the venom in Jackie’s tone. _Please just leave it be_. Of all the things she had dealt with today, this was the conversation she’d been putting off the most. Jialing glanced over apprehensively, then ducked out of the room with some equipment in her arms.

“Tony didn’t even cry. He’s getting so big, not that you’d notice. Just blinked and went off with his father like it happens every day. Course he’s right to. Not as if you’re there when it matters.”

 _Or maybe it’s because I already told him this was our last goodbye and he knows better than to expect me uninvited._ “I already said goodbye, mum. Came over especially for it.” Rose was not going to let Jackie get a rise out of her right before a jump. This was the time to be calm and level-headed, not the time for _domestics_.

“It’s like you can’t get away from us fast enough, can’t you? Pete was there too, waiting, and you left us high and dry. Tony was _expecting_ you, and you let him down.” Rose gritted her teeth. _No, he wasn’t, and if he was, it’s because you got his hopes up when **I already told** you I didn’t want to draw this out._ She hoped against her better judgement that if she was meek enough, Jackie would say her piece and leave things be.

“Mum, I just didn’t want to make a scene. Besides, Torchwood is,” she grimaced and shook her head, “…creepy. He’s just a kid. He wouldn’t like seeing me here. Better if he just saw me at home.”

“And you’d know all about what’s better for him, wouldn’t you? Because you spend so much time with him.” Rose’s heart twisted. She looked down. “It’s been what, eight months since you last visited? Birthdays and Christmas, that’s all he ever sees you for.” The finished edge on the strap webbing had melted sharp, not so much as a cap on the end to finish it off. She pulled it tighter. She _had_ kept her distance. Visiting the mansion just felt wrong, somehow, like living in an echoing, empty flat all boxed up and waiting for eviction day. It was so hard to keep up any semblance of a warm relationship, let alone make new connections. Even talking to Tony…it felt wrong. Like lying. Like she was pretending any of this could last. And somehow, every goodbye had to be good enough to be her last.

“Rose Tyler, don’t you dare ignore me.” Rose’s jaw clenched. 

“Mum, I’m sorry, all right? I had—things.” The weariness was back. She felt like a thrift-store sweater run through the wash, all balled up and shrunken hard. This day had been uncertainly looming overhead for years—the day she would make it back, make things better, the day her goodbyes would be over, but somehow it didn’t feel at all hopeful. 

“Things. Oh, that makes it all better, doesn’t it. Things. Things more important than your own flesh and blood.” Rose didn’t answer. This wasn’t good. Jackie was only winding up.

“You could have called, Rose! You could’ve had the decency to tell us you weren’t coming. Instead you ignore us like we’re dirt on your shoe. You didn’t even text us, Rose. You couldn’t tell your brother to his face that his big sister was leaving.”

“Mum, he doesn’t _care_ about seeing me today. It’s just another day for him. I already told him goodbye, and he’ll be fine. I mean, he’s three!”

“Young enough to forget you because you’re never around.” That stung.

“You’re actin’ like I broke some contract or somethin’! I told you, Mum, I’ve told you _how_ many times I don’t want to drag this out! I hate this! I hate always standin’ on the edge of a goodbye, saying it over and over again. Well, I said my goodbyes, I said them at your house and I said them to Pete and Tony an’ I say them every single time like it’s our last one. S’not like I’m gonna just disappear! What more do you want from me? I’m not bloody nineteen anymore!” Rose stared at her mother, breathing heavily. _There._ She actually said it, put into words that ugly, isolating feeling that hung around her like London fog. She was exhausted.

Jackie stared at her daughter, strapped legs-down to that slab and as naively defiant as a primary-school child. If Rose thought Jackie was somehow going to shoulder the blame for her own flaky absences, she was dead wrong.

“No, you’re not, you’re acting like you’re sixteen. Dropping out of school, running off with that awful boy when _I told you_ he was no good, leaving me behind to wait for you and pick up the pieces? You think the world revolves around you, like I’m going to keep cleaning up your room like you’re a kid. Well, I’m not. I’m not going to just let you run off like I’m some fling you picked up in the pub, and I’m not going to stand by and let you kill yourself with all this. Have you ever thought it hurts to be left behind?” _Because I don’t know if I can take it one more time, not from you and not like this._

“Do you think you’re the only one who gets left behind, mum? I told you, I’ve told you a million times—there’s something bigger out there, and I _only_ know that because of the Doctor. An’ when he needed me most, _he sent me back_ like I was just useless an’ told me to be happy workin’ in a shop and eatin’ chips.” _One time, and she thinks it's the same as a year waiting in the dark, thinking she was dead?_

“And you think you’re too good for that, don’t you?” Jackie spat.

“No, I think it’s _stupid_ to sit around all day helpless, pretending that everything’s fine and the sky’s not going to fall on our heads. It’s not. The Earth’s only turning because people choose to protect it instead of pretendin’ everything’s all safe. That’s what you chose—you had the man you wanted, and you _left_ when he said our world was hopeless. You gave up on it so you could come here and live out your dream. I _went back_.”

“Back to _your_ _death_ , and for what? He _told_ you to come with us, he put a hopper around your neck and sent you back to live with your family, and d’you listen? No! You just pine like he left you for another girl.” _Couldn’t Rose just **move on**?_

“Maybe because I didn’t _choose_ to come here, mum! _You_ decided I couldn’t stay behind and you sent Pete to drag me back against _my_ will so you could have your picture-perfect family!”

“He saved your life!” Jackie sputtered.

“Yeah, but he didn’t know that when you sent him, did he?” The _nerve_ of that girl.

“And you’re not the least bit grateful you didn’t get sucked into the void. ‘Hell,’ he called it. Living here is worse than hell.” Jackie could feel the venom on her lips. 

“I didn’t _say_ that, mum.”

“No, but you’ve made it clear. You’re never around, you never call, you spend all your time at Torchwood chasing daydreams even though he told you there was no way back.”

“Is that what you think I do every day? That I _like_ it?”

“You don’t _tell_ me anything! What am I supposed to think? Here I am, trying to keep you in our life, in _our family_ , and you turn me down _every time_. You just ignore me until I’m staring at you in a hospital bed! You’ve got the life we never had staring at you in the face, and you just run off chasing the end of the rainbow! Well, let me tell you this, sweetheart,” she spit, “one day you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve wasted your whole life away going after a fairy story, or else you’ll wind up dead in an early grave. You mark my words.”

“It’s not that simple, Mum.”

“Like you haven’t stopped running since the day you said goodbye to him.”

Rose exploded. “Of course I haven’t! _You_ think everything’s jus’ fine. You’ve got your Pete, you’ve got your baby, you get to start over. Everything’s jus’ _perfect_ , innit? See, last I was here, I was like you. Just look around, get comfortable, act like the whole place could be my home, but better. The Doctor _hated_ it. Told me ‘bout gingerbread houses—everything’s so nice and perfect, jus’ makes you want to stay, never mind the witch. An’ I didn’t want to listen to him! I saw Dad, I saw how successful he was, and I couldn’t leave off looking for him. Forced the Doctor to follow me.

“I jus’— _ignored_ him, and you know what? _He was right_. You and Pete? You were barely speakin’! I hadn’t been _born_. Jus’ when I think ‘can’t get worse,’ _cybermen_ come and cut out your brain and the whole world falls apart! _You_ think everything’s so nice it _has_ to be real, but it’s not. This world’s crumbling, and I’m not going to sit around _sleeping_ and eating and ignoring reality. It’s been four years for us, and it’s not the end of the world. It’s the end of the entire universe, and wherever I need to be to save it, I’m going.”

“And you’re not even thinking about coming back when this is all over, are you?” Jackie said, keeping her voice soft and deadly. _Try to guilt me into backing down, why don’t you, making this all about the end of the world? Well, it’s not going to work._ She wasn’t going to let Rose try and shove the real problem under the rug like some grubby little embarrassment.

“So what if I am? I’ll never feel at home here.” Rose’s face was red, but she looked defiant. Had _nothing_ changed?

Jackie wasn’t going to accept that for an answer. “So you really are just going to abandon us.” She gestured emphatically at Mickey, who had been quiet through the whole row. “ _He_ stayed behind. He went to look after his gran—she needed him. You can’t just desert your family!” She turned to Mickey, who was looking apprehensive. _And well he should, staying out of this instead of talking Rose out of this nonsense._

“Mickey, tell her!” Jackie demanded.

Mickey gave Jackie a long look. He nodded, before looking away then down at his shoes. _Tell her. She won’t listen to me_. Mickey opened his mouth.

“She’s right, Jackie.” _No. He **couldn’t**_ — “I’m sorry. Staying here with gran was maybe the best thing I ever did—gift I never thought I’d get. But—I’ve been here for eight years, and she’s right. Cybermen infiltratin’ the government, the temperature rising, the stars going out? He shook his head. “The world’s almost ended twice in eight years. That can’t be normal. You’ve got to go where you’re needed.” Having said his piece, he shut his trap. Rose was looking at him with a stupid look of pure gratitude. _How could he? Didn’t she realize?_

“But I need you, Rose. _Rose_?” Jackie’s voice broke on the name. She didn’t care. Let Rose know just what she was doing to the woman who raised her.

“But you _don’t_ , Mum,” Rose said, shaking her head and locking eyes with Jackie. “Maybe you did, but you’ve got Dad now. You’ve got Tony. You’ll be fine.”

God, she was so young. Did she think Jackie could just let her walk away, that there wouldn’t _always_ be a Rose-shaped hole in her heart?

“Won’t you even miss us?”

Rose didn’t answer. She screwed up her face and looked at the ceiling. She bit her lip. _She won’t even look at me._ Her eyes were shining. Jackie waited, watching her baby girl fighting tears.

In a moment, something feather-soft and heavy as brass settled over her. Rose was trying not to cry. Jackie hadn’t seen her cry since she said goodbye to her Doctor. Three and a half years with not one sob, tear, or snotty nose. And now Rose was holding back tears like it would break her to let them out. 

Jackie’s resistance melted. She was a mother, and even if Rose broke her heart she couldn’t just stand there and watch her daughter break down alone. Jackie let out a breath. She looked at Rose with a familiar resignation and dread. It had squeezed at her insides since the day she sat in a lorry and watched the TARDIS disappear with her daughter inside. Her stubborn, brilliant daughter.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” Rose didn’t look down at the words.

Jackie walked over, closing the distance between them. Rose tucked her chin in, eyes to the floor and blinking hard. Jackie reached into her pocket and pulled out the picture of their family laughing around Tony’s birthday cake. When she spoke, she tried to keep her words light—bloody difficult with the lump in her own throat.

“Well, you’re going to take this, like it or not.” Rose’s head turned up sharply, confusion creased between her eyebrows in an anguished sort of plea. _What am I supposed to do with those little-girl eyes?_ Rose reached out slowly as she registered the picture in Jackie’s hand. That was more like it. _Get on with it. We’re not saving the paper._ Rose took the picture and gazed at it almost greedily, like it held the whole world.

“Mum?” she said in a strangled voice. She didn’t manage to tear her eyes from the photo. Jackie laid her hand on Rose’s shoulder. Rose finally looked up and met her eyes. Rose’s face crumpled. “I’ll miss you, mum.” Her voice cracked.

And she was sobbing and Jackie’s arms were around her, then _she_ was the one fighting tears and they stood there pressed together in a tangled mess of limbs against the slab.

“I know, love.” Jackie stroked her hair. Rose was shaking. Her face was burrowed in Jackie’s neck and Jackie rested her chin on the top of her head. She remembered when Rose was tiny, all round and soft, such a fragile thing held pressed in her arms. She’d held her when she couldn’t take the taunts of the kids at school anymore, held her when she was the only one uninvited, held her when her body was grown, all sharp and angled but unbroken for all the abuse it took.

Then she was gone, and she only let Jackie hold her when she’d lost a best friend and a mother in the same alien world Jackie was trying to make her call home. She hadn’t allowed herself to be _vulnerable_ with Jackie since that day she said goodbye to her Doctor three years ago.

“I love you, mum.” Rose’s muffled voice sounded in Jackie’s ear, thick with tears. Jackie squeezed her closer _. Daft thing_.

“I know.” Her earlier shouts were starting to feel like a low blow, even if it needed to be said. Jackie held Rose closer. If this was the last time she held her daughter, she wasn’t about to let go just yet. Rose was nestled in Jackie’s shoulder, nuzzling up against her like warm little kitten. 

“I do. I really love you, mum.” Jackie rubbed her hand against Rose’s back.

“Hush now. Shhhh. Everything’s going to be fine, just fine.” Jackie stood holding Rose against her for ages. She waited until Rose’s body stopped shaking and she took great, shuddering breaths. _It’s all right, love. Dry your eyes_. Even when Rose’s breaths were coming long and slow and she had laid her head on top of Jackie’s shoulder, they stayed rooted to the spot.

They were still standing like that when that Asian technician from earlier came in. She looked at them but didn’t say a word. She walked softly over to the machine opposite Rose and started fiddling with it. Good for her, giving them a little privacy. Jackie looked down at Rose. Her eyes were closed. Jackie kissed her hair and stepped back a little, holding her by the shoulders and looking over her.

“There you are.” Jackie reached up and rubbed a thumb under Rose’s eyes, clearing away the tear streaks. “Right as rain.” Rose had had the good sense to wear waterproof for once. Give it half an hour, and you wouldn’t be able to tell she’d even been crying. Jackie watched Rose draw a deep breath, steadying herself. She looked at Jackie and just nodded her head. Nothing more to say. Water under the bridge, now.

“Rose? Ms. Tyler?” The technician’s voice came gently. What was her name again? She was sure Rose had told her before. Oh well, not enough time anymore. “The cannon is ready. I gave us a few minutes before the calibrated start time.” She took a large metal case and set it down on the table next to Rose. Inside were a number of what appeared to be yellow buttons on a chain. They looked like something out of a children’s cartoon, but a little more sci-fi. Press the button and you go whoosh. Jackie had to give it Torchwood: at least the dratted things were user-friendly.

“I know you’ve been over this before, but I thought we could do a review anyways, just in case.” _A nice way to say ‘doesn’t matter if you’ve forgotten, I’m not going to embarrass you by making you ask.’_ Jackie liked this girl. None of that haughtiness some of Pete’s colleagues showed.

“To come back here, twist this knob all the way to zero and hit the button. It will clear any other settings you’ve used and send you back to our world.” Well, that was simple enough. If by the skin of their teeth, they managed to fix whatever was happening, Jackie hoped the hoppers still worked. It would be a bloody painful joke to save the universe and end up stuck on the wrong side of it. “

“This dial here, on the back, is the temporal manipulator. It can jump you back in time for up to a few hours. See? Days, months years.” She gestured to the dial. “It can’t go forward, though, so make sure you’re prepared before you hit it. You probably won’t need to use it, but if you do, run it past Rose. She’s the most familiar with the timeline you’re entering.

“Next to it, that switch, that’s the spatial manipulator. If you flick it, it’ll activate the button as a teleport. You can input a location the same way you put in a time, by adjusting this knob and typing on the number pad. If you really find yourself in trouble, activate the spatial manipulator and hold the button down instead of releasing it. It will transport you to the same place as the nearest hopper outside a meter radius. So if you’re locked up together, you can escape by pressing the button and it won’t just send you right next to the other bloke in handcuffs. She smiled impishly at Rose, who shook her head, smiling back. _Prison jokes? Hell of a way to whistle in the dark._ Still, it seemed to help Rose regain her composure and Jackie couldn’t fault them for that.

“We haven’t managed to get them up to full battery yet—something about the void has been draining them and we haven’t worked it out yet, so you’ll have to give them about half an hour between any kind of jump.” She smiled apologetically.

“They’re brilliant, Jialing,” Rose said. Jackie felt an inordinate swell of affection for her girl. 

“No, no, I really am sorry we couldn’t get them working better. But just check this light—if it’s green, they’re charged up and ready to go.” The technician, Jialing, distributed the hoppers. “You can set them to beep when ready, if you want.”

There it was, a little blinking green light. No extras this time. Something had changed, made them work differently—Jackie didn’t know what, but after what happened to Jake…well, she wasn’t about to pull someone from the other universe back with her. With only one hopper, there was no chance of dragging Rose back, but…well, it didn’t seem right to plan on that anymore.

Mickey, silly thing, fiddled with his hopper right away. Jackie didn’t bother to turn on her sound—she always kept her mobile on vibrate, and besides, Mickey was the better choice in a fight. That left Jackie to any job requiring stealth. And, if someone accused them of, oh, spying or something and someone needed to act dumb, she could certainly play the part. Few could hold up against her when she got herself riled up—heavens knew she could turn the heat right back on ‘em. Mickey walked over to Rose and handed her the gun. Rose took it from him and slung the strap over her shoulder.

“You have all been briefed, correct?” They nodded. “Good. Well, since all of you have jumped before, you know what it feels like. Rose will be going first. I’m going to shoot her with the dimension cannon, and she’ll be your anchor. You can watch the screen over there—” she pointed to a screen offset into the wall behind the cannon “—to see she lands safely." At least she would know her daughter hadn't been horribly mutilated or landed a mile underwater. 

"Once her hopper gets the signal she’s through safely, it will start to prime itself, and she’ll signal us with it when it’s time for you to come over.” Jackie reached over to squeeze Rose’s arm one last time, then stepped aside to wait with Mickey. Oh, it was awful seeing Rose so small, with that great big machine aimed right at her. Rose turned her head to smile and wink at them. _Cheeky thing_.

The dimension cannon started to whir, and the end pointed at Rose glowed blue. Just when Jackie didn’t think it could get any louder, it engulfed Rose in a burst of light and she disappeared. Just like that…gone. She was still staring at the place where her daughter had been standing when Mickey put his arm around her. _Bless him_. She reached over and hugged him back, unsmiling. She was so tired waiting and goodbyes.

They waited for about half an hour. For once in her life, Jackie couldn’t think of anything to say. Mickey seemed to realize this and chatted her ear off with stories—the old times back on the estate, the time in this world before she crossed, the bizarre situations he’d got into as a field agent for Torchwood, though he kept out some details. Classified, she supposed. She made sure to gasp in all the right places, and he even got a few genuine laughs out of her before the waiting was over.

Finally, the signal came. Time to go. She looked at Mickey. “Together?”

He nodded. “Together.” They counted down. _Three. Two. One_. Then Jackie pressed the button in her hands, and the world spun away in an iridescent whirl of color like bubbles in washing-up liquid. Her body vibrated like every cell in it was rattling to get out. As the light bled out, only one thought remained. Rose was gone again, but for once, Jackie was following after her.

* * *

 _…Your children are not your children.  
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.  
They come through you but not from you,  
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you._

_You may give them your love but not your thoughts,  
For they have their own thoughts.  
You may house their bodies but not their souls,  
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,   
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.  
You may strive to be like them,   
but seek not to make them like you.  
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday._

_You are the bows from which your children  
as living arrows are sent forth.  
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,   
and He bends you with His might   
that His arrows may go swift and far.  
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;  
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,   
so He loves also the bow that is stable._

“On Children”

In _The Prophet_

Kahlil Gibran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers may have noticed something is up with the timeline. I thought I’d spell it out here, though it will eventually be clear (as clear as time travel can be, anyways) in the narrative. Mickey stayed in Pete’s world time in Pete’s year 2007. It took about a year for the cybermen to infiltrate the government and start teleporting, and then three years for Torchwood to track them down and get the dimension hoppers working the first time, for a total of about four years, which corresponded to less than a year in Rose’s world.  
>  In Doomsday, Rose ended up on Pete’s world in Pete’s time 2011, which corresponded to Rose’s world 2007. Since the initial jump to Pete’s world was done by the TARDIS and not a dimension hopper, even though the time back on Rose’s world was 2007 and Pete’s world was 2007, the universes weren’t aligned time-wise. They dimension jumped to the time and place they were needed, which happened to be back in time. Thus, Pete’s world runs at a rate roughly parallel to Rose’s, just in the future. That’s how Pete and the Doctor are able to hop back and forth in Doomsday and land at the same time they left. Jumping makes a sort of a tunnel in time and space, with a fixed start and end point, but because the void has been going dead and making everything unpredictable, setting those endpoints is tricky. That’s how they end up jumping to a point four years instead of two years in the future.  
>  Between the initial landing and the first Bad Wolf Bay scene was about four months. Because Jackie has been in Pete’s world for a few months over four years, Tony is three. (Also, nursery school starts in January, not September). Rose has been there for about four years as well, but she’s added an extra year and a half or so to her personal timeline as she’s been world-hopping. She was with the Doctor for a little over two years, so it’s been about eight years since the events in Dalek, which I headcanon as happening not too long after Aliens of London/WWIII.  
>  So, there you have it. Rose is about 27 (she hasn’t really been counting), though her mum sees her as 25, and the Doctor expects her to be about 23 since it’s been twoish Earth years since he lost her (three if you count the year that never happened). So…timey wimey…stuff. Probably not super canon, but I like parallel time and jumps warped by the void better than compressed time in Pete’s world.
> 
> If you enjoyed it or want to offer constructive criticism, please comment and let me know what you think! Your comments are very important to me.
> 
> ETA: Oh, and if anyone's wondering, Jialing's full name is 邱家伶  
> ETA 2: Updates on my tumblr, slippingbetweenthestars


	8. That We Have Followed Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this up without doing a thorough line edit. Will do that when I have a little more time.

* * *

Rose hit the ground with her heart pounding and bones rattling. There was air. Oh, there was air! Even though she’d been on plenty of jumps in the intervening months between _that_ one and now, it was still a relief to land breathing. And she could still feel the sun on her back. She checked the time display on the dimension hopper. Right day, and just on time. Battery was almost completely drained. Rose looked around. She had landed at the edge of a shaded alley in a well-to-do suburban area, with cute little shops lining the street. Just as well, since guns bigger than Irish terriers weren’t standard fare for civilians in any universe she’d visited. _And now I suppose it’s time to wait._

She walked towards some bins and started to wait.

For all of about four minutes.

 _This is rubbish. When have I ever found out anything by hiding from the action?_ She stashed her gun behind the bins and covered it up with some sheets of old newspaper for good measure, then walked around the corner of the alley to find her bearings.

Judging by the street signs, she was somewhere in Chiswick. Donna lived around here; that had to be significant. It was a still morning, the air heavy with laziness. A growing itch at the back of her mind called for her to go back and get her gun. She ignored it and casually walked the streets for a while but saw no signs of anything unusual. It was the kind of sleepy day that made the Doctor say he hated Sundays. Too quiet. She scouted for a good half hour before the urge to go for her gun became too strong to ignore, and she retraced her steps. No one gave her a second glance. _Thank goodness I’m plain-clothed_. Times like this made her grateful she’d won the battle against the military jumpsuit. She found the alley where she had hidden her gun, checked to make sure it was still there, and tried to content herself with waiting.

Minutes ticked by. She checked and double checked her hopper’s energy levels. Before putting it back, she made to check the—

crashing, no, _careening_ , she was flying, being flung—

—the world _jolted_ as gravity jerked out from under her. Grit spiked into the heels of her hands as they bit into the stone underfoot and her breath was knocked out from under her just like the ground. _This is it_.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped.

It had happened. _It had happened_. She shoved off of the ground and grabbed her gun, securing it firmly before retrieving the hopper lying at her feet. The Doctor could be disappearing any minute. Rose set the hopper to trace artron radiation, hit the button, and felt herself gently spin into nothingness.

When she rematerialized, she couldn’t keep her eyes forward for long. _Why is it so_ …Rose looked up. The universe was hanging in the sky.

Not like the pinpoint stars that blinked out like birthday candles. No, the planets looked close enough to touch. She’d been here before, hovering above a planet impossibly close, feet dangling out the door of the TARDIS like it was a just dock at the pier, but never like this and never with so many worlds together in the sky. She looked around. No sign of the TARDIS. Only residual artron energy readings, with one fish-mouthed milkman gaping like there was no tomorrow. _Well. Let’s not prove him right_. The real trouble could only be beginning. She racked her gun.

The sun was gone. That couldn’t be good. No moon either _. As long as the atmosphere holds_ …Rose didn’t know how much time they had. Since the TARDIS wasn’t here, loitering around the neighborhood didn’t seem like a wise use of time. She needed to know what was going on, and judging by the milkman, panic would start to hit soon, the way it did back at home when the public finally heard the news about the stars. Only here, there wouldn’t be months of speculation giving rise to rationing programs. No, this would be a blind and bloody panic. She set off at a jog towards the nearest tube station. That would get her right into the thick of things. If the trains had derailed…well, the TARDIS wasn’t here yet and people could be injured.

It was calmer underground than she expected. She actually happened to have an oyster card stashed in her jacket pocket from a few jumps ago along with her old mobile, so she paid the fare before slipping her jacket off and over her gun to draw less attention. In the time between the earthquake and now, the trains had started up again, albeit at half speed. The people at the station looked drawn and worried, but no one was frantic. A few were clutching mobiles like a lifeline, but the general mood was quiet, even somber. They must not have gotten a glimpse of the sky.

She chose a train heading towards a more populous area. A man sat down next to her, noticed her gun, and abruptly shot back to stand in the corner, flicking her nervous glances. _I can take a hint_. Rose reached for the UNIT credentials she’d used in Donna’s world in case she was questioned. Not as good a psychic paper, perhaps, but it looked official enough and should do the trick. While she sat, she pulled out her mobile—her proper mobile, not the one she used back in the other world. If she could get a signal a few million years in the future, the tube should be a cinch. Rose pulled up the Doctor’s contact and hit the call button. Her mobile rang once, then went dead. Offline. _How could he be offline??_ She typed in his number by hand. His number was burned in her memory. One ring, then silence.

She started ticking through the list of who else she could contact. There was Captain Magambo, but she hadn’t even met this version. She had no idea who was running Torchwood—might be Gwen and Ianto like in Donna’s world, but it seemed unlikely; after all, they’d been led by Jack, and he was dead in this reality. For all she knew, Dr. Walker was running things. Maybe…Sarah Jane! It had been so long, but if her number hadn’t changed…Rose found her contact and called her. This time, her mobile rang out several times, but went unanswered. Well, there went that plan. If she could make contact with someone who knew what was happening…She only stayed on the train for a few stops before heading into a commercial area and hurried out a less popular exit.

Outside the door, chaos reigned. This wasn’t at all like Pete’s London. She hadn’t seen anything this wild since the world where…well, the other Donna’s world. Instinct snapped into place. Stiffening her spine, she strolled out into the mess of hysterical people as an odd sort of calm filled her up. This was what she had trained for. She strode purposefully towards an electronics store—without any this-world UNIT or Torchwood contacts, the news would be her best chance at figuring out what kind of entity had snatched the Earth out of orbit.

A man staggered by, drunker than Jackie that one New Years she spent at Tobias’ place. “The end of the world, darling. ‘S the end of the stinking world!” He called out to her, lifting up his bottle in a way just shy of leery. First came the criers, then the revelers.

Well, she’d dealt with a few drunks in her time, and he seemed the harmless sort. “Have one on me, mate,” she said with a smirk. He lumbered on and she continued towards the electronics store.

First things first: the looters would have to go. Some hooligans had smashed the storefront windows and were trying to gather up some pricy but bulky television sets. _The sun goes missing, and they think they’ll have the time enough to sell some stolen tellies?_ Honestly, it would be easier to get her mum to stop complaining about the license fee than it would be to sell a new set in a crisis. They should have gone for the pasta and tinned goods. The two young men ransacking the store didn’t even look up as she entered. _This won’t do_. She racked her gun. Now _that_ got their attention. 

“Right, you two. You can put that stuff down or run for your lives.” Their look of shock put the milkman’s to shame. They didn’t start moving. She held out her gun just enough to get them scrambling. “D’you like my gun?” The looters fled. Rose couldn’t keep back a smile.

She bent down to watch the news. Emergency broadcasts were running: spaceships, approaching the earth. Not just one lone scavenger, either, like the Slitheen. This looked like a full-scale invasion. _But why drag the earth out here, and what has the technology to move whole planets?_ She’d never encountered anything advanced enough…Except maybe one. The Doctor had burnt up a star in his grief. He had crossed dimensions and time, and the TARDIS…it could do things she hadn’t thought possible. But it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have pulled a stunt like this. What cause would he have…a solar flare? Was this some sort of secretly brilliant plan to save the Earth? No, that didn’t make sense either—the other planets in the sky were far too close for a natural orbit, assuming they weren’t moons.

That left another possibility. The Doctor…he’d fought in the Time War. Two sides in a war. He’d sent them all burning, Time Lords and Daleks alike, with him the only survivor. A spike of horror shot through her lungs. He’d thought they were impossible, yet when the void spilled its banks, it had freed heaps of Dalek survivors. And the void was thin enough to let her through. Rose looked back at the screen. One of those ships…it was headed right towards—

She bolted. Anywhere was better than here, exposed on the streets right by the crush of people. Had to get anywhere but here. There was a back street—she ducked away from the main street and off to a dark one. No stores, no lights, not since streetlights didn’t run at eight o’clock in the morning. If she could get out of sight…

Rose half ran, half crept from shadow to shadow until shops gave way to houses. Shadows loomed overhead. Ships, those awful ships. She hadn’t seen them since, well, since the Doctor regenerated. Not exactly a good-luck charm. Rose continued moving in the direction of Donna’s neighborhood, when a distant voice from above confirmed her ugly suspicions.

“EXTERMINATE!”

It came from across the street, but the voice sounded in her ears loud and clear. _Well done, you got that one right. Now what are you going to do about it?_ She felt herself smirk again in spite of it all. Of course it would be Daleks. Well, they hadn’t gotten the best of her yet, not in three encounters. There was a steaming vent on the street next to a large, overhanging bush, and she crouched underneath it. Hopefully that would hold off detection by any infrared sensors for now. From what she could hear, the Daleks weren’t massacring civilians, but rounding them up for something. That couldn’t be good. She risked getting out her mobile again. _Please, Sarah Jane…_ Straight to voicemail. She could hear voices— _aliens—right in the middle—in my jimjams!—a good splodge of paint—sound like those things from my game— **please** , dear—Mummy what’s happening_— ** _Get back in the sky!_**

People resisting? Oh, no—

A house lit up with quick-lime whiteness and burned against the night. Rose’s nails dug into her palms. _Please, let the rest cooperate_ —

“They're monsters.”

“Please, Dad. Come home.”

 _Father and daughter—must’ve split from the pack_. They actually might have a snowball’s chance of surviving if they could get back in an already cleared house. Suddenly, some of the words she’d overheard came back a little clearer— _a splodge of paint, they’d be blinded…surely not…_

It was worth the risk. She snuck back towards the sound of the voices onto another street, and almost stopped dead. She knew them. Of all people…

“MY VISION IS NOT IMPAIRED.” Of all the cheeky things…was that a _paintball_ gun? “HOSTILITY WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.” The Dalek was winding up—

“EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE. EXTER—” _Not on my watch, you don’t!_ The Dalek’s head exploded, letting off a stench of burned wires and cooking meat. The woman and her father looked over with a looks of shock and wonder, respectively. Oh, it felt _good_ to do something!

“Do you want to swap?” the old man said with one part mischief, one part innocence. Rose was tempted to laugh. They were going to get along swimmingly. But, now wasn’t the time to stop for laughs.

“You're Donna Noble's family, right? I'm Rose Tyler, and I need you.”

…

Once they were safely inside the Noble’s house, Rose tried to figure out how much they knew. Donna’s mother, Sylvia, didn’t know much about Donna’s travels with the Doctor, and seemed hostile or dismissive towards what little she did know. Wilf was another story. Not only did he know about the travelling, but he seemed to completely approve of it, which was a new one for her. Despite all that, he had no idea where Donna was _now_ , and tracking down travelers in a teleportation-time machine from their last known location wasn’t as simple as checking browser histories.

Finding them had felt _right_ , but here she was, no contacts and no idea where the Doctor was. She tried calling him again, and Sarah Jane as well, but it was as before. Radio silence. Resisting the urge to pace was difficult, but she really didn’t know where to go. The streets were lined with Daleks. It wasn’t safe to call for Jackie and Mickey. For all she knew, the Doctor…had… _died_ or something.

They could hear the Daleks outside. And there was nothing to do but wait.

…

Rose wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting at the kitchen table. Felt like years had passed in a manner of minutes. It was dark. She could hear alarms in the distance…reminded her of the Blitz. The tension of waiting…it just coiled up inside a person. On the living room couch, Wilf held Sylvia in his arms, who was curled up like a little girl and crying silently. Dalek voices had been droning nonstop through the walls.

THE DALEKS REIGN SUPREME. The military had been immobilized. ALL HAIL THE DALEKS. The UN announced total human surrender. YOU WILL OBEY DALEK INSTRUCTIONS WITHOUT QUESTION.

Like hell she would. Or any of them, for that matter. Years of slow apocalypse and Donna had still fought Rose every step of the way. That was humans, for you. The Doctor knew it and the Daleks would find out the hard way, if only she could get to someone with resources and come up with a _plan_ —

“Can anyone hear me? The Subwave Network is open.” Wait. Was that— “You should be able to hear my voice.” It _was_! “Is there anyone there?”

Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister, in another world known as the President of the People’s Republic of Great Britain, was on the computer and asking allies.

…

What followed was one of the most surreal experiences of Rose’s life. The people on the screen—she recognized them, almost all of them. One was a ghost who’d died a century and a half in the past. One she’d seen wending her way through a grey haze in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. One should have been a corpse on a satellite centuries in the future. _How had Jack survived?_ The only person she didn’t recognize from some parallel world or other was with Sarah Jane, who finally seemed to be answering calls. The people on the screen all had access to some kind of resource, and yet no one seemed to know what was going on any more than she did, and no one knew where the Doctor was.

The most normal part of the conference call was the fact that no one could _see_ her. _Story of my life the past few years_. Didn’t stop it from being incredibly frustrating. The best plan they could come up with was some sort of signal amplification using their combined technology, a Subwave Network; it seemed a shot in the dark, but what other choice did they have? Then Ianto pointed out the elephant in the room. A signal obvious enough to cut through time and space? No way the Daleks would overlook it.

“Yes, and they'll trace it back to me.” _But that would mean_ … “But my life doesn't matter. Not if it saves the Earth.” Harriet spoke with the kind of frank, matter-of-fact tone that Rose had used to tell Donna to sacrifice herself.

Not if it saves the Earth. 

“Marvellous woman. I voted for her.” Rose turned to see Wilf wearing a grim look of shining admiration.

Sylvia made a noise like a cat dying. “You did not.” And just how would she know that? The woman hadn’t even known her daughter ran off in a bloody time machine.

“Me too,” Rose volunteered. Sure, it had been in a parallel universe, and she’d voted her as president, not Prime Minister, but what was the difference, really?

“Now, enough of words. Let's begin,” Harriet said. Rose pulled out her mobile and hit her contact for the Doctor. He’d rigged this mobile so she could call home, and now she was doing it again for him. Calling the Doctor in the Tardis. She held her mobile up like she was looking for reception, never mind the uselessness of the gesture. _Please. Find me, Doctor. Find me_. She squeezed her eyes closed.

And before she knew it, the broadcasted sounds of explosions broke through the screen. Never wavering from her cool authority, Harriet passed on control of the Subwave Network to Jack. 

“Tell the Doctor from me—he chose his companions well.” There was the woman Rose had voted for. Composed and unflinching.

Same woman, different circumstances. She understood the Doctor’s fury at the way she’d handled the Sycorax invasion, and she couldn’t blame him for it—she hoped she’d never be able to fully comprehend his visceral rage towards taking lives—but she’d seen what he was incapable of seeing: his own fingerprints on the universe. Harriet had been right.

The Doctor wasn’t always around to save the day. Without him? The stars went out. Cities were crushed. Islands burned. Martial law was implemented. Nuclear winter fell. And in his absence, people rose up to do what he did, and no one was quite quick or clever enough to fight back and survive the process. Over two years, a hundred realities, a dying, breaking world across unnumbered universes, and in every one, saving the Earth wasn’t possible without the sacrifice of people like Harriet Jones. 

Then Rose watched as Harriet Jones stood down a wall of Daleks, spoke her last defiance with a calm assurance to wear down mountains, and crumpled to the floor.

Rose bowed her head and was silent.

All of a sudden, Jack’s voice broke through.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Her eyes snapped open. It was him. It was _the Doctor_. Something electric zinged through her body, setting her blood tingling. He was here, and looking right at her. Sylvia and Wilf crowded around her, watching Donna aboard the TARDIS.

Before she could stop herself, words were leaving her mouth. “Doctor…it's me, I came back.” She’d seen him so many times, but always from the side, or back, too far away or running behind.

Donna spoke. “It's like an outer space Facebook.” _Facebook?_ Rose wrinkled her nose in confusion. Well, of course Donna would have run into something she hadn’t yet—

“Everyone except Rose.” The Doctor’s voice cut through her. _No…it’s happening again_ …The Doctor’s screen split into static. Rose resisted the urge to hit the monitor. _Come on!_ Something inside her twinged as she heard the Doctor’s voice for a heartbeat—“…Rose?” and his screen returned. Then, crackling through the static came a new voice.

“ _Your voice is different,_ _yet its arrogance is unchanged_.” _Who could—_

“ _No_.” Sarah Jane’s voice was barely a whisper, but it pierced Rose’s heart. “But he's dead.” On the screen, she could see tears slipping down Sarah Jane’s face from wide, glassy eyes. Her voice trembled.

The voice continued, haughty as a Dalek. 

“Welcome to my new Empire, Doctor. It is only fitting that you should bear witness to the resurrection and the triumph of Davros, _lord and creator of the Dalek race_.” A wave of heat flashed over her and she fisted her hands. Her teeth ground to a standstil as a vein throbbed in her forehead. _So there’s the bastard himself._ Seemed natural that something as artificial as the Daleks were engineered. He came onto screen, a wizened and shriveled man in a case with a light like a Dalek eyestalk embedded in his forehead.

Rose glanced over and saw the Doctor, frozen still and speechless. He was trembling like Sarah Jane. Davros just waited in the shadows, a rotting grin splitting his face. Donna called to the Doctor gently. No response. Not even to blink.

He just held there, frozen over the console.

Rose had never seen him this voiceless before. Donna leaned close to his face, comforting him but never touching him _._ Rose felt a word repeating in her heart. _Please_. It felt like a prayer.

The Doctor finally spoke. The war, it was always the war. Davros should have died—had died—and yet here he was, breeding a whole army against the only Time Lord left to stop him. Davros dropped any pretense of speaking to the listening humans and taunted the Doctor, the gleeful squealing of an insane Dalek punctuating his words. Rose watched in disgust as Davros opened his shirt, revealing stringy tendrils of skin just barely stretched over the holes between his ribs. He laughed at the Doctor, gloating.

“True Daleks. I have my children, Doctor. What do you have, now?” Rose wanted to rip his throat. _Us. He has us_.

“After all this time, everything we saw, everything we lost, I have only one thing to say to you.” Rose waited with bated breath. Instead of giving an answer, the Doctor let out a revolted “Bye!”

And with that, the moment broke.

She heard the others on the call jump into action, panic just concealed under their voices. Daleks were heading to crack Torchwood like they’d broken open Harriet Jones’ house.

The Doctor was coming. Rose did a quick rundown of her situation. No special equipment here to attract attention, so Wilf and Sylvia should be safe, as long as she left. If a bunch of humans working with stolen technology could create a dimension hopper, no doubt the Daleks would be able to trace the radiation she’d be trailing. The Doctor was coming, and the fight was coming to him. Well, he wouldn’t be facing it alone. She checked the hopper. Damn. Still not ready. She stood up, pushing the small button on the back that paired it to her phone, and hit call on her mobile.

“Control, I need another shift. Lock me onto the Tardis, now.” She rushed out of the kitchen.

“Roger that,” came the voice on the other end. Rose snapped it closed and paused for a moment to turn to Sylvia and Wilf.

“Right, I'm going to find him. Wish me luck.” She was grinning like an idiot. She didn’t care.

“Oh, _good_ luck.” Sylvia seemed much softer with a little bit of hope to cling to.

“Yeah, good luck, sweetheart.” Such a sweet man. Then, she felt a familiar shock of energy rattle through her and pair dissolved before her eyes.

…

Jackie didn’t enjoy hopping between _dimensions_ , no, not one bloody bit. It had been bad enough the first time, when Pete appeared to snatch her into fairyland. It was well behind them now, but the prat had just assumed she would leave her daughter behind and come with him. Well, Jackie’d had enough of ghosts made real for one day and told him to shove it or go back to save her daughter.

This time was just as bad—made her feel like she was trapped in some sort of dream, first dizzy like a child spun too fast on a playground roundabout, then stuck moving dreamlike through syrup, before she finally landed on the ground proper. Mickey had broken through at the same time she did. And—she knew the time didn’t line up properly between worlds, but _how_ much time had passed? The streets made it to be two o’clock in the morning! Apart from no streetlights, she seemed to be standing in a perfectly ordinary residential neighborhood. No blue box in sight. She felt a hand on her arm. Mickey.

“Jackie, look at the sky,” he said with urgency. She looked up and felt her jaw drop. She gaped at it for a moment before responding.

“Now that’s just unnatural,” she said, shaking her head. Mickey laughed. It just wasn’t right to look up and see planets like she was in a field-trip planetarium.

“Damn right, you are,” he said. They stood there, surveying the streets for a moment. The strap on her gun cut into her shoulder, so she shifted it to the other one. She heard some kind of commotion a row of houses over.

“Do you reckon we should check it out?” she asked. Mickey just raised his eyebrows and grinned. He turned away and moved away, all sneaky-like through the gap between houses. She imitated him. So those rounds of laser tag really did count for something. They crept into the shadows.

…

Rose landed with the force of a thunderclap, legs shaking. _Ugh, I really shouldn’t do more than two jumps in a day_. It was so much nicer travelling by hopper. As her head cleared, she looked around. She was in a more urban area. The street was deserted and littered with small belongings. Cars were stopped skewed mid-street, doors still open.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach and her heart started tripping over itself in a race to see how fast it could go.

There, far at the end of the street and settled neatly in the shadow of a stone chapel, was a familiar blue box. And there, right in the street—

The Doctor, standing next to Donna. And in one beautiful movement, he turned around to face her. His eyes widened. His jaw slackened.

He _saw_ her.

For a moment, everything froze. Then, the reservation she’d worn heavy over her for _so long_ melted. She started to run.

He was sprinting towards her. The cars, the rubble, all gone. He was the only thing she could see. She couldn’t put the ground behind her fast enough. His jacket was flapping madly and he had unfettered glee plastered across his face.

She felt herself mirroring him, hair tangling wild as she ran. It was him, it was _really_ him! Her gun, so obsolete now, hit against her hip. And the distance, that damned invisible wall, closed between them.

_Doctor!_

Something flashed bronze and blue out of the corner of her eye—she turned—everything slowed down—dismay froze her blood—Her feet skidded as she tried to stop herself from reeling arms-first into—

" _EXTERMINATE_."

a flash of bleach-bright light—

and the Doctor—

he was—

falling

* * *

_  
The distance that the dead have gone_   
_Does not at first appear –_   
_Their coming back seems possible_   
_For many an ardent year._

_And then, that we have followed them_   
_We more than half suspect,_   
_So intimate have we become_   
_With their dear retrospect._

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where I start wiggling with cannon again. This was easier to get out than the past two chapters, but man, y'all. I tried my darnedest with plot but I had to re-start about a million times when I realized there was some line or other that had implications for the story. Also, it is _really_ not possible to recover from re-watching the first Rose/Ten reunion scene enough to write a take on it in one setting. 
> 
> I really appreciate all of you who’ve taken the time to read this story. Thanks especially to those of you who’ve put yourself out there and commented. It really means a lot to me and encourages me to keep writing. Feel free to talk about anything tangentially related to DW or this fic, including the poems. I ask for comments frequently because I’m the kind of reader who forgets to comment if I’m not reminded, but don’t feel pressure to comment if it makes you uncomfortable. You can also ask me not to respond to a comment if that stresses you out.
> 
> Also…this week marks the beginning of semester for me, so I can’t guarantee I’ll publish on time next week. I have literally no idea how time management will go. Stay tuned at my [tumblr](https://slippingbetweenthestars.tumblr.com).
> 
> (Alternative poem—felt it was a little too cheeky: _  
> Suspense – is Hostiler than Death –  
>  Death – tho’soever Broad,  
> Is just Death, and cannot increase –  
> Suspense – does not conclude –_
> 
>  _But perishes – to live anew –  
>  But just anew to die –  
> Annihilation – plated fresh  
> With Immortality –  
> _  
> Emily Dickinson)


	9. We go no further with the Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today.

* * *

_Somehow the sonic made it real._

_He would never, never let it roll away. Not even if he was sleeping—he did doze from time to time, and she’d tried to borrow it once when a poisoned dart had made him docile and sleepy like a cat in a warm window. No dice. He’d actually **hissed**. And there it was, lying on the street like yesterday’s crumpled paper._

_Hovering nearby had been a woman, Donna, and she'd looked confused and sort of helpless, which didn’t make sense because she should have been frantic, not like a stranger clutching carnations at an acquaintance's funeral. She’d travelled with the Doctor. They were mates. Rose had seen them laughing together from afar as they managed to evade a tidal wave, glowing gizmo safely in hand._

_Near the ambulance, Donna had looked subdued, somehow, which just seemed wrong. She should be shouting and acting like she belonged here. Instead she had toed the line between "passerby" and “need-to-know.” It was like she’d bluffed her way in and was scared someone would kick her out if they noticed, not like she was the closest thing to next-of-kin. This was wrong, all wrong, just like the tanks in the streets and the stillness that followed as Christmas songs still echoed. No sirens. No urgency. It wasn’t right, because the Doctor was in the thick of things, always. He was a blur of motion, and if something had stilled him, everyone else was wild around him. There was always someone or something who knew who he was and wanted something from him, human or alien._

_And then Rose saw his screwdriver._

_Donna didn’t question her as she snatched it from the ground, nor did she comment when Rose clutched it behind her back, holding it out of view. Donna looked nervous at first, and then sort of sympathetic. It was like she didn’t know what was going on and but didn’t want to overstep herself and ask, or else as if she was torn between offering comfort and holding back out of respect for Rose's privacy. Rose didn’t answer the woman’s unspoken questions but interrogated her instead. It was useless. Donna hadn’t been there. She didn’t know what was going on._

_“I came so far.” The words just slipped out with an exhale. The sonic was heavy in her hand. She was too late. He was just…dead. Like a human._

_“It...it could be anyone,” Donna said. Her words were like ice water. Wrong. Wrong. In the right world, Donna knew who he was. She didn’t **hover**. _

_Donna introduced herself, and as Rose responded, Rose took a second look at the woman. There was this…this thing on her back and Rose couldn’t really see it but she knew it was there. Her eyes kept roving around, seeking for the source of the wrongness that_ **should be there** _, but she couldn’t find anything. It was like…like the Doctor acted around a fixed point, like he did that one time in Klklari. Normally, disastrous fixed points were prefaced by a whole series of escalating mishaps, but that time it was just two people making an awful choice in a closed room two doors down. He'd insisted they keep a low profile and not leave the room and kept berating Jack for things like muttering too loudly. Yet, the Doctor had been entirely unable to sit still, a feat for him in that first body. He kept pacing from corner to corner as he alternated between crossing his arms and letting them hang helplessly at his sides. Like something was so wrong that he couldn’t help picking at it, but was helpless to actually focus on it. It would have been smart for Rose to act casual, pretend there wasn't anything wrong, but she couldn't help but stare at the not-thing on Donna's back._

_Donna noticed. She wanted to know what Rose was looking at. No good answer for that question. It wasn’t as if Donna’d be able to see it any better, so Rose just held her tongue. This settled it. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t do anything about it, not here and now. She needed more time and information to figure out what was going wrong with this universe._

_As Donna turned around,_ _Rose felt the shiver of energy that warned her she'd be pulled back. She gritted her teeth in preparation, and a wave of invisible force split her open from the inside and shook her into nothingness._

…

Rose couldn’t remember running over, kneeling down. An image burned itself on the back of her eyelids, visible every time she blinked. The Doctor, falling. The bottom fell out of her stomach and her body suddenly seemed weightless. All that mattered was getting to him, touching him. She’d been trained, he would be fine. If she could just—

He was here, head under her hands. He was on the ground but it was okay, he was okay, he was breathing, he was fine. He was going to be fine.

“I've got you. It missed you.” Rose’s eyes were burning. _He isn’t_ — His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and that was wrong—it hadn’t hit him, he was fine, he’d just fallen down.

“Look, it's me, Doctor.” He had seen her, really seen her, and now he had to look up, he just had to look her in the eyes—

Then his gaze sharpened and she was flooded with relief at the sound of his voice

“Rose.” His voice was weak, creaky as if from unuse, but his eyes were shining.

“Hi,” she said with a sound somewhere between sob and a laugh. She stroked his hair, which was a testament to their circumstances—he’d never let her muss it up on a normal day. He grinned back at her. He was feeling the same relief she was. She could just tell.

“Long time, no see,” he said. There he went, using straight-faced understatement to see who would laugh first. Two could play.

“Yeah. Been busy, you know.” She kept her voice light. Just like old times. Asphalt ground into her knees as she held his head. A groan broke out of him. Then it hit her, like lead in her arms, ice in her stomach.

“Don't die.” The Dalek hadn’t missed. She’d seen his skeleton burn black. “Oh, my God. Don't die.” She cradled him in her arms. He didn’t—couldn't?—say anything. “Oh my God, don't die.” Someone was coming closer, they were coming to take him away again—they couldn’t, he was still here and breathing, he didn’t belong to their morgues or labs. Someone was looming over her, and she clutched the Doctor’s body tighter. They _wouldn’t_ —

Then the person crouched down next to her and wrapped an arm around her, a little too heavy but warm. She flinched a little. His hand rested on the crest of her shoulder.

“Rose.” She tore her eyes off the Doctor. Blinking back tears, she could make out—Jack? His thumb rubbed rough circles into her arm, before he squeezed once and stood up.

“Get him into the Tardis, quick. Move.” She could hear his voice barking out orders, but the sound felt distant. He could be a giant for all she knew, voice sounding off into the clouds. Then there were people, Jack who was dead and Donna who’d introduced herself over the Doctor’s corpse, and they were pulling him out of her arms and—

“It’s all right, Rose. But we’ve got to hurry, you’ve got to let go—” Listening to Jack, something clicked into place and she remembered where she was. Injured teammate, unsecured area. They needed to transport him to somewhere less exposed, now. She reached under his arms and lifted him up. The Doctor didn’t so much as wince as they hoisted his body—No. Him—up and back to the TARDIS. There they could find some medical supplies, or something… _first, need to get back_.

Rose, Donna, and Jack stumbled back across the TARDIS’s threshold with the Doctor’s dead weight. Rose drew a sharp breath. The TARDIS, this TARDIS, was alive. She was lit gold and making that low quavering noise. Some of Rose’s anxiety ebbed. The old girl would help them figure out what to do this time, just like she always had. Not dead here.

Even as procedures ran through Rose’s mind, she was struck by their uselessness. How to stabilize an agent injured by an unknown weapon, what do to without backup, how to find a secure area—really just fancy code for running and hiding. They were hefting him limp back through the TARDIS, yeah, and not in his jimjams like last time, but what was she actually supposed to _do_? Treat him for shock, as if the bloody alien hadn’t gone and changed into a whole new body the last time she’d seen him hurt badly?

The Doctor was alien, shot by an alien weapon people weren’t supposed to just survive. His stupid suit didn’t even have a scorch mark to show for it, and he was barely reacting as they lugged him around. _He can’t, not now_ …

“Over there.” Jack lifted his chin towards the grating on the opposite side of the console screen. With a grunt, they lay the Doctor down gently. He looked so small as he fought to breathe.

“What...what do we do?” Donna’s eyes were huge. “There must be some medicine or something.” She had that _look_ , like she was tamping down terror and pretending this was normal for Saturdays, just needed to think up a clever solution. Rose knew that look, or at least the feeling. Standard fare, travelling with the Doctor.

“Just step back,” Jack said. Rose didn’t move. “Rose, do as I say, and get back.” His voice was calm but firm, like it was outside on the road. Rose stood up and made to leave but found herself lingering, gaze fixed on the Doctor. He was just too still lying there, even as his chest rose and fell.

Jack tugged at her, his voice strong with urgency. “He's dying and you know what happens next,” he pled. She followed him away. When had he become the realist?

“What do you mean? He can't,” Donna said, voice trembling. Jack was right.

Rose's voice came out small. “Oh, no. I came all this way…” Saying it out loud made it horribly real.

Donna was standing next to her. “What do you mean, what happens next?” She sounded confused and panicked, this time openly expressing it. As if in response, the Doctor’s hand started to glow gold. Oh, God, it was really happening again, without a chance at saying goodbye.

“It’s starting,” the Doctor croaked. He was still in there, still fighting.

“Here we go. Good luck, Doctor,” Jack responded. His voice was calm, normal even. It was like he was reassuring them all, even the Doctor. She hadn’t even thought—the Doctor must be as much a mess as she was.

“Will someone _please_ tell me what is going on?” Donna asked with an edge of exasperation.

Rose blinked. “When he's dying, his er, his body, it repairs itself. It changes,” she said, waving her hand helplessly to make up for what she couldn’t express. She focused back on the Doctor. “But you can't!” she begged.

“I'm sorry, it's too late,” the Doctor said through gritted teeth. “I'm regenerating.” He groaned, and then his face was engulfed in light.

* * *

_We can but follow to the Sun—_   
_As oft as He go down_   
_He leave Ourselves a Sphere behind—_   
_'Tis mostly—following—_   
  
_We go no further with the Dust_   
_Than to the Earthen Door—_   
_And then the Panels are reversed—_   
_And we behold—no more._

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it stands, writing's probably going to be limited to the weekend from now on out, so I'm going to be breaking chapters into shorter pieces so I can attempt a weekly update schedule. With that in mind, new chapter estimation, which is still very subject to change. Thanks for your patience. 
> 
> Do you have a favorite poem or poet you'd like to share? I'm obviously very fond of Emily Dickinson, but haven't read many poets or much poetry in general and would love to expand my horizons
> 
> Comments energize me, so I'd love to hear from you if you've got the time and energy to do so! Feel free to let me know if I missed something in the editing.


	10. There is no Silence in the Earth

* * *

It was those Daleks again. Good riddance if she thought she’d seen the last of them. It just made her burn inside. That family…they’d been too late. Moments too late. Didn’t matter that the murdering aliens were dead, so was the family. No way to bring back the dead. After she and Mickey had ushered the survivors into hiding, they crept away down the street to find a safer place to stop. Currently, that meant crouching down behind someone’s carefully trimmed hedgerow and fiddling with the dimension hopper. Mickey, anyways. Jackie didn’t quite trust herself not to ruin the thing and end up in Timbuktu by accident, so she left it to him.

Mickey was bent over the thing and muttering. He let out a curse under his breath.

“What, prick your finger?” she asked. He huffed and let his hopper drop from his hand until it dangled at his neck.

“Naw.” He rubbed at his eye with one hand. “Just tryin’ to find out where the hell Rose went. We shoulda seen her—energy readings spiking all over the place. Definitely landed around here. But the trail just ends. S’like someone’s hidin’ her or somethin’.”

“D’you think—could it be her Doctor?” Jackie asked.

“What, hidin’ her? No way. He’d be leaving great bloody spikes of energy all over the place. TARDIS ain’t exactly stealth and all. But here? Nothin’. No artron energy. Nothin’ at all.”

“So where _is_ Rose? Don’t tell me we came all this way and she’s not even here.” Jackie could feel her temper rising but she kept her voice low.

“I don’t know, Jackie! Like I said, she _should_ be here, but she’s not.” He picked up the hopper again and tried something else with the controls on the back like doing the same thing all over again’d make it clearer somehow. All blokes were just the same, didn’t matter how old.

“What, so you’re just going to keep on tinkering with it?”

Mickey’s brow was furrowed. “I just thought—maybe something _is_ hiding her. Those Daleks—Rose told me once they just hid, for centuries. Doctor didn’t even pick up on ‘em—wasn’t looking in the right place, if you ask me. So if I can just loop the trail, make it track where she isn’t—”

“You’re not making any sense! Can we find Rose or not?”

“Give me a _second_ , Jackie!” Jackie pinched her mouth shut and waited as he fiddled with it for at least as long as it took the credits to roll at a movie. She was almost about to interrupt him again when he looked up triumphantly.

“There really _is_ something hiding her.”

“What, some cloaking device or something?” He chuckled. Oh, sometimes she just wanted to wipe that smug look off his face—

“Sorry, just didn’t take you for one who’d watch sci-fi. You’re dead on: just like a cloaking device. It’s mad tricky, though.” He shook his head and made a face, flashing up his eyebrows and rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Like cybermen but harder. Can’t even pinpoint where Rose isn’t, ‘cept she’s in the UK somewhere. But she _is_ here, and I don’t think it’s the Daleks doin’ it.

“You don’t?”

“No way. See, normally there’d be all sorts of broadcasting goin’ on all through the air. Telly, radio, all that stuff.” He waved his hand like he was clearing out cobwebs. “An’ it’s still there. But it’s extra fuzzy, like someone’s throwing up more signals. More channels goin’, if you get what I mean. And that’s not right. Great alien army shows up, forcin’ people outta their homes? Should be a lot less stuff in the sky. S’ like someone took a map of the underground an’ drew extra routes, ‘cept half the lines should be cancelled. Well, the lights are on but no train. Should just be static, but it’s almost like the lines are runnin’ still.”

“And you think someone’s mimicking all those signals just to hide Rose?”

“Or somethin’ like it. We’re not the only defenders of this Earth, Jackie.”

“So you think it’s on purpose.”

“Definitely. All I need to do is figure out where the signal’s coming from. ‘Cept whatever’s blocking Rose’s also blocking itself.” Oh, just _leave_ it to Rose to go and get herself all hidden away.

“But you can find her, yeah?

“I’ll try—probably have to wait for some kind of blip in the shield.”

“Well, how long’s _that_ going to take?”

“I dunno, Jackie.” For a moment he looked almost grim. “‘Course if it is human, probably won’t take long for the Daleks to find out and target it. Take down the resistance.”

“Well, we’ll just have to be ready for them when they try.” Jackie lifted her chin. Let Daleks just _try_ and get between her and her daughter again.

…

They’d been hiding in the bushes long enough to make her stir-crazy. Skill at aiming guns or no, there was a reason she’d never considered Torchwood. Forget the danger, it was dull as rocks doing these covert operations. She’d never considered herself a particularly patient woman, and she’d talked with Pete enough to know those action movies were rubbish—most of the time it was just waiting around in the dark. She was just going through exactly what she was going to say when she met whoever was responsible for all of this when Mickey made an excited noise.

“An’—yes! Hang on—” He fiddled with the hopper and pressed a button on the back down. “Let me see yours—” He reached for hers and did something to it. “Now you’re all set to follow me where I go. Something blipped. S’like the connection just shorted out. Now I’ve got a location for whoever’s hiding Rose.” He looked up. “Ready?”

“You bet I am.” With that, they pressed down the big yellow buttons and _slourped_ away.

…

When she was on the right side of the world again, she found herself once again face-front against a Dalek and wasted no time giving it a piece of her mind. She primed the gun and blasted the twice-cursed thing to smithereens. Its head—could you call it a head?—splatted everywhere like some latex monster in a goopy horror film.

She looked around at who it had been targeting. Wait, was she that _Sarah Jane_ reporter? The woman had done some downright fanciful reporting for one of the tabloids back at home— Jackie'd laughed her head off about it with the girls and was in the middle of recounting it to Pete, when he’d rubbed his forehead and admitted they were dealing with a small security breach in their historical records. Turns out the scoop on werewolves wasn't just something Sarah Jane cooked up on her own.

Apparently, she was somebody here as well if the Daleks were taking a shine to her. Jackie gave her a look-over. Sarah Jane just stood there, jaw hanging open. Well, not every day your execution-by-alien’s interrupted by some strangers with honking big space guns (never mind what Pete said, they _were_ alien technology, and that was enough for her. Who cared that they were assembled on earth? Call it what it was: a space gun).

“Mickey?” Sarah Jane’s fish-mouthed gawking finally gave way to a question. Oh, of course they knew each other. Just one more thing Rose never got around to telling. Mickey smiled back.

“Us Smiths got to stick together!” _Oh, he’s loving this, all right. Saving the world and all, one grateful civilian at a time_. Jackie put two and two together. Not an ordinary civilian if Daleks singled her out, and definitely not ordinary if she knew to surrender. This happy little reunion party had gone on long enough. She cut in.

“Jackie Tyler, Rose's mum. Now where the hell is my daughter?”

…

One minute she watched the Doctor drag himself up enough to hunch over the console, and the next he was gone, glowing all gold. She dimly registered that her eyes were wet and blurring.

The next he was just standing there.

He was just standing there. Like…like nothing had happened. Same face. Like time…had gone undone or something, rewound itself so he’d never regenerated at all.

He was still him, same man who’d gone to New Earth with her and popped back out of a child’s drawing like nothing’d ever happened. And to top it all off, he was bent over a jar _with his hand_ in it and blowing gold energy into it like dandelion fluff.

“You see? Used the regeneration energy to heal myself, but soon as I was done, I didn't need to change. I didn't want to. Why would I? Look at me.” Babbling, he was. Never mind Jack and Donna beside her, it felt like she’d gone back in time and woke up on the floor only to watch the most important man in her life flip faces like a damn shape shifter or something. And he said he couldn’t go back. She’d wanted him to.

He was still going. “So, to stop the energy going all the way, I siphoned off the rest into a handy bio-matching receptacle, namely my hand.” Alien. He was such an alien. She just stared. “My hand there. My handy spare hand. Remember? Christmas Day, Sycorax. Lost my hand in a sword fight? That's my hand. What do you think?” He’d grown a _new hand_ before her eyes, right after going and switching his whole body, not to mention voice and personality.  
Everything she wanted to say choked back in her throat. She could only manage a tiny, pathetic question.

“You’re still you?” It came out all wrong. _Please understand me. Like **he** would_.

“I’m still me.” Three words. And she knew it, she just knew he meant it. She ran for him and buried herself in his arms like nothing had ever come between them.

…

She could have stayed there for hours if the power hadn’t gone and shut itself off. Before she could properly register what was happening, something had ripped the TARDIS off the earth and she was flying them through space, not of her own accord.

Rose couldn’t bring herself to step away from the Doctor this time, so she stayed by his side the whole time, even as he extrapolated what was pulling them. Donna, sharp as she was, was asking all the right questions and the Doctor was on a roll. Rose couldn’t help but smile as he got going. This was him, this was properly him, the way things should be. Not like the him she couldn’t warn in time. She could still see him, curled up stiff and unmoving, while terrified humans tried to drag him away on that crampled little craft. Then in an instant, he stopped her musing up short.

“Rose, you've been in a parallel world. That world's running ahead of this universe. You've seen the future. What was it?”

Parallel world. Parallel worlds, more like it, and most of them grim. They all had one awful thing in common.

“It’s the darkness,” Rose said. She thought of his sonic lying on the ground, and the collapse that followed. She looked over at Donna helplessly—it seemed almost unfair to ask, but how could she manage to put all of _that_ into words?

Blessedly, Donna caught the baton and carried on. “The stars were going out,” she said. _That’s it. Focus on the stars like this is just another Torchwood project proposal._ Rose continued.

“One by one. We looked up at the sky and they were just dying. Basically, we've been building this, er, this travel machine—” he was lifting his eyebrows, and _oh_ it just sounded stupid when she said it out loud, but it wasn’t like she went around throwing around technical jargon when basic words did just fine “—this, this er, dimension cannon, so I could…” He was looking at her cheekily, like he’d just won a bet. “Well, so I could—”

“What?” he asked. Rose felt her cheeks start to burn. Oh, this was just silly.

“So I could come back,” she admitted. “Oh, shut up,” she said, trying and failing to wipe that smirk off his face. “Anyway, suddenly, it started to work, and the dimensions started to collapse.” She didn’t mention the wastelands she’d stumbled across or the friends who’d died without even a funeral to mark their passing. “Not just in our world, not just in yours, but the whole of reality. Even the Void was dead.” The people at Torchwood had fixated on their other-world counterparts and their attempted technological solutions, but when the void had gone dead…well, the project supervisor had treated it like it was just one straw on the haystack, when it was _very much not_. A _single_ voidship had contained an entire Dalek army. Who knew what other rotting Time War leftovers were waiting to creep out. Rose looked the Doctor right in the eyes. “Something is destroying everything.”

* * *

_There is no Silence in the Earth — so silent_   
_As that endured_   
_Which uttered, would discourage Nature_   
_And haunt the World._

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I've moved cross-country and have settled back into school. Writing is mostly limited to Saturday mornings, and so chapters will continue to be a little bit shorter. Thank you for your comments and encouragement.


	11. Lest Anybody spy the blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Turns out I was closer to a stopping point than I thought.

* * *

“The dimension cannon could measure timelines, and it's, it's weird, Donna, but they all seemed to converge on you.”

Rose could see confusion all over Donna’s face. Her heart did a funny sort of backflop. Even seeing Donna here, alive, next to the Doctor, ( _alive!_ ), it felt fake. Simulated. Like some kind of sick joke. _‘Surprise, I’m not really dead!’_ And just when you got your hopes up—bam. You wake up. _Gingerbread houses_.

“But why me? I mean, what have I ever done? I'm a _temp_. From Chiswick.” What…how could she say that? _Donna, her jacket covered in wires. Donna, trying to comfort her over a stranger’s corpse. Donna, dying on the ground, when she’d thought she just might live._

Rose was still grasping for the right words when a loud beep cut across the silence.

“The Dalek Crucible,” the Doctor said, a grim set to his jaw. “All aboard.”

As if to prove him right, a voice cut through like a loudspeaker.

“THE TARDIS IS SECURED.” Rose stepped closer to the Doctor and twined her fingers around his.

“DOCTOR, YOU WILL STEP FORTH OR DIE.” Donna was staring at the Doctor with wide eyes but squared shoulders. It looked like she was begging him to brush the voice off, but preparing herself to go out fighting. Rose glanced at Jack, but he was studying the Doctor. She felt the Doctor’s hand tighten in hers.

“We'll have to go out. Because if we don't, they'll get in,” he said.

“You told me nothing could get through those doors,” Rose said. There had to be a way out.

Jack, dependable, wonderful Jack, backed her up. “You've got extrapolator shielding.”

The Doctor let out a hiss, let go of her hand, and turned away, shoving a hand through his hair before answering. 

“Last time we fought the Daleks, they were scavengers and hybrids, and mad,” he explained. The words rushed out with surprising intensity. “But _this_ is a fully-fledged Dalek Empire, at the height of its power. Experts at fighting TARDISes. They can do anything. Right now,” he said ducking his chin and gesturing, “that wooden door is just wood.” It felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees. Rose made herself stand up straighter.

Jack turned towards her. “What about your dimension jump?”

“It needs another twenty minutes,” she said, checking it and shaking her head. “And anyway, I'm not leaving.” _Not in five billion years_.

It was the Doctor’s turn to fish for solutions. “What about your teleport?” he asked Jack, looking down at him from the coral strut he was hovering around.

“Went down with the power loss.”

“Right then. All of us together.” He nodded. “Yeah. Donna?” Rose realized Donna hadn’t been following the conversation. She was just staring, her eyes all glazed-over. _Oh, God, she can’t go out like this_.

The Doctor stepped down and approached the woman. “Donna?”

She started. “Yeah?”

“I'm sorry. There's nothing else we can do.” 

“No, I know,” she answered. Rose breathed a sigh of relief. _Still with us_.

The jarring voice cut through again. “SURRENDER, DOCTOR, AND FACE YOUR DALEK MASTERS.”

It sunk in.

“Daleks.” All over again.

“Oh, God,” Jack said.

 _Oh, God, he died last time_. _They both did_.

“It's been good, though, hasn't it? All of us. All of it. Everything we did.” Rose’s heart sped up at the Doctor’s words. He was saying goodbyes again. Her first Doctor had done that, right before he regenerated. _You were fantastic. So was I_.

The Doctor looked at Donna. “You were brilliant.” He looked at Jack and Rose in turn and repeated the sentiment. _And so were you_. She lifted her chin and smiled at the TARDIS crew. Jack gave an ironic grin and winked back.

Rose tossed her hair in response and zipped her jacket up. _Ready or not, here we come_. She walked up to the Doctor, who was standing near Donna. They left the teal glow of the console behind and strode towards the door, grating creaking underneath. Rose reached for the handle, but Jack made it there first, and he stepped in front of her. He swung the door towards them and they stepped out to meet the neighbors.

…

Sarah Jane was surprisingly forthright. Apparently, someone _was_ hiding her daughter, and that someone turned out to be the bleeding ex-prime minister. Harriet Jones. President now, in the other world, but dead here. She’d been harsh on the woman all those Christmases ago, and now Harriet had died protecting Rose and everyone else beside. Made a person reconsider things, that did.

The important thing now was finding Rose, and that meant finding her Doctor as well. Mickey was about to rig something with the hopper to find them when Sarah Jane volunteered coordinates. Jackie’d never been one for that sort of GPS location, but between Mickey and Sarah Jane, they were bound to find the right neighborhood, at least.

Since the Daleks had caught Sarah Jane trying to drive away, they were now making their way on foot. Blasted Daleks, robbing everyone of cars. She had suggested sneaking, but Sarah Jane said something about infrared vision, so they just jogged along instead.

“There! Look!” Sarah Jane whispered, pointing across the street towards an uncomfortably familiar blue box. And there—Rose! She was running towards her Doctor when Jackie caught a flash of light. Something moving… _no!_ Someone had to warn her, but she was slow, too slow—

Mickey grabbed her and pulled her down behind an abandoned van. She fought him and yanked his hands off her arms.

“That is my _daughter_ —”

“Shhh! Yeah, I know. I know.”

“Oh, what do you know? If you did, you’d _let me_ —”

“Jackie! Rose can hold her own. Look at me: it didn’t hit her. Rose is fine. It hit the Doctor. Rose is fine.”

Sarah Jane gave a soft gasp at the mention of the Doctor. Jackie looked back at Mickey and yanked her arm out of his hands for good measure. 

“Look,” he whispered,” we can’t go out there. The Daleks are distracted right now, but we don’t know how many of ‘em are out there. We’re hidden for now, since the engine’s still on—” he gestured towards his gun “—but we step out there? They’ll finish us off.” The van was still running—looked like the owner had abandoned it in a hurry like Sarah Jane had.

“But what do we _do_?” Jackie was sick of Daleks swooping in and ruining everything. This time, it was Sarah Jane who answered.

“Can that device of yours track things?”

“Track things?” Mickey asked. “What kinda thing are you talkin’ about?”

“Well, if we could do a scan of the area, we could locate the Daleks.”

“D’you know much about their energy signatures? Cos this thing’s wired up for Rose and artron energy, but that’s it for now. I could probably rig it to track something else, but I’d need something specific.”

“I’m afraid—”

“ _They’ve gone inside!_ ” Jackie interrupted. For all she knew, her daughter and her blooming alien beau could be jumping to who knows where. Mickey and Sarah Jane looked up.

“Right then—” Mickey’s words were cut off by sharp inhales from both Jackie and Sarah Jane.

“What _is_ that?” It looked like someone had borrowed a page from Wonder Woman’s book and snagged the TARDIS in a glowing lasso. It was soaring up out of sight. 

Sarah Jane’s answer was grim. “Daleks. They’ve taken the TARDIS.”

“Well that’s no use, how’re we supposed to get to them?” Jackie was starting to panic, but she was _not_ about to turn into a blubbering mess when _her daughter_ had been only seconds away. _How **dare** they?_ Those thrice-cursed aliens were going to get a piece of her mind, if she had to blast their tin little heads one by one.

“Those teleport things,” Sarah Jane asked, nodding her head to indicate the hoppers. “Can we use them? If they've taken the Doctor to the Dalek spaceship, then that's where we need to be. Mickey shook his head, corrected her, and explained. The hoppers, nasty little things, still needed twenty minutes. Sarah Jane just nodded once and seemed to make up her mind.

“Then put down your guns.”

“Do what?” Mickey looked at Sarah Jane like she’d suggested dancing the macarena.

“If you're carrying a gun, they'll shoot you dead.” Jackie didn’t like the iron in her words. Didn’t sound like she was just speculating.

Before they could stop her, Sarah Jane stepped away from the van into the streets, hands behind her head.

“Daleks, I surrender.”

She was surrounded in a heartbeat. One of the Daleks spoke. Well, ‘spoke’ seemed too generous. It announced, or maybe broadcasted, swiveling its eyestalk as if to examine her.

“ALL HUMANS IN THIS SECTOR WILL BE TAKEN TO THE CRUCIBLE.”

“She's bloody mad!” Mickey whispered incredulously. _Oh_ , he was right, but so was Sarah Jane and there _really wasn’t_ another option, was there? Jackie looked back at him.

“Yeah, but Mickey. They’ve got the TARDIS. They’ve got Rose.” _And isn’t that why we ran all the way here?_ Jackie took a long look at Sarah Jane and made her decision. She put down her gun and stepped away from the safety of the van.

“And us. We surrender,” Jackie said, with as much dignity as she could muster. Mickey flashed her _a look_ before giving his gun a quick peck and setting it down. If her heart hadn’t been pounding as hard as her head New Year’s Day, she’d have laughed. Blokes and their guns. She couldn’t blame him, though. Her arms felt empty without hers. She stepped forward into the circle of Daleks to stand with Sarah Jane and Mickey, surrounded by walls of angry pepperpots. 

…

Rose followed Jack to step out of the TARDIS and found herself flanked by a chorus of tinned squids singing their own praises. Formations of the bloody things were zipping around like militarized locusts. It would have been ridiculous if it weren’t so damn chilling.

“DALEKS REIGN SUPREME. ALL HAIL THE DALEKS!”

“BEHOLD, DOCTOR. BEHOLD THE MIGHT OF THE TRUE DALEK RACE.”

She reached for the Doctor’s hand, but he wasn’t there. She glanced back and found him turning around, completely ignoring the Dalek. He called out for Donna instead. Donna. She hadn’t gotten out yet. Rose felt her heart speed up. _She’d better hurry…this lot’s not patient_ —

The TARDIS door slammed shut. _Donna…not the time to play games._ The Doctor yanked at the door as the Daleks seethed at them. A pit curled in Rose’s stomach. Something was happening… _not good_.

“Stop it!” the Doctor shouted and whirled around until he was standing with his face straight in line with a Dalek eyestalk. “She's my friend. Now open the door and **let her out**.” He was angry. Totally angry. Not a note of condescension or indignance. Somehow, the lack of dominance in his voice was chilling.

“THIS IS TIME LORD TREACHERY.” The Dalek buzzing at them was red, unlike the metallic-neutral phalanxes zipping around them.

“ _Me?_ The door just closed on its own.” His eyes were still burning, but his eyebrows had knit together in bewilderment. The Dalek didn’t react.

“NEVERTHELESS, THE TARDIS IS A WEAPON AND IT WILL BE DESTROYED.” Faster than she could blink, the floor opened up and the TARDIS plummeted out of sight in a horrifying instant. _No_ …

“What are you doing? _Bring it back_!” The Doctor was angrier than she’d ever seen him in this body.

They weren’t listening. Why _would_ they listen? They weren’t about to start, and not even the Doctor’s fury was enough to make them scatter. Rose scanned the room. No visible exits. Oh, God, what if there were trapdoors everywhere? They might find themselves in some garbage disposal. As if this wasn’t Star Wars enough. She almost giggled. Just this morning, Jialing had poked fun with her about being a prisoner, and here she was. She looked back at the Doctor.

“What have you done? Where's it going?” He was still shouting at them. Jack edged in front of her. Was he planning on making a break for it? Seemed desperate, but what other option was there? She tensed, ready to head in the opposite direction, but took one look at the Doctor and stopped. He was completely unaware. She could see him trembling. He was entirely focused on the red Dalek in front of him.

It something about some sort of energy core. The hateful _thing_ continued with entirely too much mirth.

“THE TARDIS WILL BE DEPOSITED INTO THE CORE.”

“You can't. You've taken the defenses down,” the Doctor bellowed. “It'll be torn apart!”

His voice cracked.

 _No_. Rose rushed up next to him. “But Donna's still in there!” she protested.

“Let her go!” Jack yelled, as if he could make them heed him. 

“THE FEMALE AND THE TARDIS WILL PERISH TOGETHER,” the Dalek taunted. “OBSERVE. THE LAST CHILD OF GALLIFREY IS POWERLESS.”

Some kind of holographic screen flickered in front of them. Rose felt her breath catch. The…the TARDIS. She’d been flung into some sort of molten mess, a twig dropped into a foundry crucible. Sparks sprayed around her. _Just wood_. The Doctor’s words echoed unbidden through Rose’s head. _No._ _It can’t end this way_. She couldn’t watch Donna die again, just a bobbing blip on a Dalek screen.

She reached for the Doctor. _Donna. The TARDIS._ His best friend and his whole world were burning in front of his eyes. Rose slid her hand into his. He wasn’t trembling, he was shaking. His jaw was rigid.

“Please,” he said, not even registering her touch. “I'm begging you. I'll do anything!” His voice was rough. Something was different about him. Wilder. Last she’d seen him properly, with Daleks and Cybermen at Canary Wharf, he’d just folded his arms up and toyed with them. Now he was willing to roll belly-up at their command and it scared her.

“Please. Put me in her place. You can do anything to me, I don't care, just _get her out of there!_ ” His voice shook.

And the Dalek reacted just like it’d been trained for this moment. Perfect little pet.

“YOU ARE CONNECTED TO THE TARDIS. NOW FEEL IT DIE.”

* * *

A _wounded_ Deer – leaps highest –  
I've heard the Hunter tell –  
'Tis but the ecstasy of _death  
_ And then the Brake is still!

The _smitten_ Rock that gushes!  
The _trampled_ Steel that springs!  
A Cheek is always redder  
Just where the Hectic stings!

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish –   
In which it cautious Arm,  
Lest Anybody spy the blood  
And "you're hurt" exclaim!

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this story! I'm excited to be nearing the canon divergence point. Re-writing scenes with extensive dialogue is always a challenge--how do you write them without just summarizing what everyone's already heard? I'm a sucker for dialogue, so when I read episode re-writes, I already remember how the conversation went down and crave new stuff. This is perhaps the chapter with the most "ready-made" dialogue, so I gave it my best shot.
> 
> Also, I'm rubbish at guessing how long things are going to take, so you can mostly ignore the chapter estimate. You'll know we've reached the end of this installment when we're at Bad Wolf Bay. 
> 
> I really appreciate your comments and encouragement. Long story short, today's a bit late because I had a massive headache last night that's still lingering, but I was able to concentrate enough to finish this up.


	12. If I Stopped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

* * *

_When he was very young, he watched meteors rain across the sky, trailing white fire. Their instructor lectured on the shaping and composition of rocks in the sky, and how they burned when they fell to ground. One question bothered him: “Does it hurt?”_

_He’d been laughed to scorn._

_Through the haze of light surrounding him, struts crash and sparks burn like they’re entering the atmosphere. He’s not sure he knows the answer to the question._

…

Bubbles, little tingling bubbles fizzing up under his ribs, out and through his blood, down, down, out through his fingertips—oh! Fingertips, he had them, five fingers—or was it the other way ‘round? Yes, tingles from his fingers, like his hand pressed up against a hot tub jet, failing to stop the air from escaping, little bubbles tickling up his arms and around his torso, going all the wrong way…

Bubbles the wrong way—Dahl ever the prescient one. Bubbles going up, now that’s rubbish. Had he turned into the sort who towered over everyone? Done the ears once already. He’s not sure how he knows it, but ten regenerations gone all normal-like, just figures he’d turn up all massive like Glimgangers from Clom on Dahl’s doorstep. But the bubbles aren’t just down, they’re _up_ and _out_ and beading under his eyes and—oh!

The feisty little things force his eyes open and he can barely see past the glowing. Funny, time skips and it seems like someone’s pressing the rewind button, zloooop and the columns zoom up like toys marching back a chest. Not quite done with that scene, were we? No spoonful of sugar yet, but right about now—

“It’s you!”

You! He’s a you.

“Oh, yes!” Nevermind that meaning just yet, the brain’s still bouncing but he’s sure he’ll get to it some time. She’s got hair like cinnamon tea and something tells him her bark’s the same. Somewhere behind his eyes some neurons gossip with each other let him know she’s gone and averted her own peepers.

“You're _naked_.” And there’s the bite, quite right, bark’s much worse.

“Oh, yes!” Seems important to tell her. Humans, caught up in their nipped noses and Jack Frost. She’s right, it’s downright drafty in here. He sits still for a minute? Two. No, twenty seven seconds and not a moment longer. Time’s slipped out somewhere between his ears and’s gone noodling out all over the floor. Grating. Ouch, not the nicest thing to have pressed up against your bum. Bit like coal walking—secret there is to keep moving. Bit colder, this is, and he can’t quite remember how the whole “moving” bit goes. Easier to stay where he is for now. ~~~~

“Planning on sitting there all day?” It’s Jack. The Doctor blinks, taking in the rock and concrete monstrosity towering above him. Turrets connected by welded iron bridges span the blue sky. The floor underneath him is made of iron, so like the TARDIS floor. Bishop’s Castle.

“Jack! I found a rope!” Rose is leaning out from under the shadow of one of the turrets.

“Excellent. Well?” he says, turning towards the Doctor.

“I don’t…”

“Oi, you planning on _doing_ anything about it, spaceman?” Donna’s voice startles the scene into changing. He must look confused, because Donna gives a quick flick of her eyes and reminds him that iron rhombi are digging into his very cold, very bare backside.

RIGHT, clothes. Clothes on the limbs, arms, legs—Legs! He remembers them, and it’s like opening his eyes again—sensation he’d forgotten. He blinks, and next he knows, he’s tumbling down the TARDIS hallway.

He slows down when it’s clear Jack means to make this a race. This section’s low enough that the Doctor has to bend over to keep his head from brushing up against the rock ceiling. Well, Jack can go trip over his own feet, because even if this confused offspring of a viking meadhall and gothic cathedral is almost 50 meters tall, it’s still the work of one man without a blueprint, and held together mostly by concrete and iron grating—

His hearts skip a beat as Rose nearly trips headfirst down the entry to the turret stairs. It takes him an entire heartbeat to catch her but this time, this time, he’s fast enough. Now she’s blinking up at him, a teasing smile spread all across her face.

“Now what’d you go and trip me for?” she says, as if. He starts to bluster, and Jack chimes in from a few steps down.

“Don’t you go denying it. Plain as day. If you ask me, looks like someone’s looking for an excuse to feel her—”

The Doctor breaks into a fit of giggles as Jack puts a foot through the worn edge of the grating and drops down three stairs with all the grace of a wind-sock tube man. Rose guffaws at the Doctor’s side as Jack looks up helplessly from where he’s sprawled over the spiral railing.

“He jus’…like that!” Rose is almost hiccoughing with laughter now. “An’ who’re you tripping after, Captain?”

Jack just waggles his eyebrows back at her. Typical. Rose tries suppressing her laughter. For a moment, the Doctor just watches her. Sometimes she’s his duty to the world, reminding him what someone’s got to do, and then sometimes she reminds him you can make a home in every moment. 

“Rose?”

Jack’s voice is suddenly plaintive. She just raises an eyebrow.

“I’m…stuck.”

The Doctor blinks again and he’s not leaning against the inside of a turret, standing on someone’s pet welding project, he’s on top of a different spiral stair, clad only in pants and surrounded by enough clothes to make Webber weep for joy. Something niggles at the back of his head, but he brushes it away. Doesn’t really matter how he got here, anyways.

He lingers, reaching out to finger a bit of colorful yarn, and a heavy, cold sort of feeling curls in his stomach.

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong_ …it’s as if he’s sinking under. If he doesn’t stop, his head will slip under the treacle. His limbs aren’t listening to him—they won’t flail like they should. He’s going under and _he doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here_ —

“Doctor?” With a gasp, his arms snap out of the syrup and he can move again. The cold feeling is still there, so he squishes it down deep and shoves it into a shoe. It’s a familiar shoe, which is strange. He’s never liked the same shoes twice before.

Then a noise on the stairs reminds him—Donna. He’s still starkers. She’s a lovely woman but a bit of a prude, and his smelling salts have gone the way of the pterodactyl (he was still chuffed at how neatly that plan worked. Kept Eckels _right_ off his tail. Poor sap still thought it was the butterfly).

“Hold your butterflies, I’ve only got my shoes and pants on—"

It’s hard to balance when he’s bouncing like a dufflepud to get the second shoe on.

“Butterflies? And you’re telling me you’ve gone and put your _shoes_ on without your trousers first?”

 _Well, when you put it **that** way_… One foot has made it through the trouser legs. The other shoed foot snags itself in his trouser legs. He yanks at the waistband. His foot resists like a live mouse wriggling down a snake’s gullet. Clothes swallowing him up—eating him alive! _Just have to shove it through its throat_ —his foot’s almost broken through when he registers a different set of feet rushing up towards him.

The base of the coatrack smashes into his shoulder and before he blinks twice, the rack’s on top of him and there’s a whole writhing lot of _them_ all over him. He throws off a gaping maw that used to be a coat and kicks away a hat that’s gone and tried to snap up his foot. Something wooly’s trapping his arms and throat, squeezing the air from his lungs—he’s thrashing but it won’t come _off._

“Don’t get your bloody knickers in a twist. I’ve got you.” Hands are tugging at the blasted thing but they’re not moving _fast_ enough—

“Oi, don’t you go flailing! That was my _face_!” Her hands find his throat but before he can pull them off air’s rushing off his throat. The constricting thing’s gone. The scarf.

“Doctor.” Oh. Donna’s still kneeling next to him. Come to think of it, he’s still on the floor. “Look at me.”

He looks in her general direction. She’s gone and grown another head. Lovely, more mouths to give him a tongue lashing. She’d fit in quite well on Salxtri-1. With a loud sigh, Donna hoists him up by his arm and he’s pleased to find he can stand even though the floor’s rocking like he’s in San Francisco, 1906. Something’s not right. He’s…he’s not sure when he is.

As soon as it’s clear he’s not about to keel over again, Donna moves away, huffing as she gathers the now-limp clothes scattered across the TARDIS floor. He gathers himself alongside her and ignores the nagging feeling. What’s time on the TARDIS, anyways?

Donna draws near and he can feel her starting to crackle like lightning, so he quickly snags the coat that matches his trousers before she can go up in plasma. He reaches for a white collared shirt but glances over at a tie-covered rack. Snakes. He shudders.

Instead, he grabs a t-shirt and manages to pull it over his head without incident. Nothing there to choke him. He concentrates so hard that he when he blinks and finds himself in the console room, he doesn’t do a double take.

His arms are in his coat sleeves now and he’s surrounded by spanners. As far as dreams go, this one’s taken a turn for the mundane. He’s relieved. Instead of waiting for, he doesn’t know, the walls to start disappearing on him or something, he grabs a spanner and lets his hands figure out how to finish the contraption they’re cradling. Better not think it so. Think of the devil and all. It’s no use to anyone if he goes floating off into space. Instead, he looks down at the little device he’s been fiddling with. _Now that’s downright beautiful._ He’s not sure what it does, but he knows he’s seen it before.   
  
He stops trying to focus and just lets his brain blur into a comfortable fuzz. His hands and mouth feel like someone else’s as Donna swoops over him. Something’s springing around inside of him and he almost feels...giddy. All fresh inside.

He’s vaguely aware that his gob’s running like a lawnmower on fire. He doesn’t care. 

“…Instantaneous biological metacrisis. I grew out of _you_.” Her second head’s gone and dissolved. Funny, he was starting to like it. He looks her over again. “Still, could be worse.”

“Oi, watch it, spaceman!” she snaps. His focus bounces back behind his eyes.

“Oi, watch it, Earth girl.” Oh, now that’s just _odd._ “I sound like you. I sound all, all sort of rough.” He’s been in new bodies before, but borrowing from someone else? Downright odd. And Donna doesn’t even seem to notice how strange this is as her eyebrows battle her bangs for dominance. She’s downright indignant. Did he miss something?

“Oi!

“Oi!” He can’t resist a little experimentation.

And yes, she “Oi!s” right back.

The Doctor can just hear all the questions hiding underneath her tongue and they start wiggle their way in his ears. It tickles. He shushes her. There was something important under all that, something about borrowing…well, now it’s no use, his neurons have skipped from gossiping straight to mutiny and apparently organized a coup with some cotton fuzz. Great. Fluff for brains. Just what he’s always wanted. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something important underneath but he can’t quite…well…

“I must have picked up a bit of your voice, that's all.” Yes, that seems right. “Is it? Did I?” And sure enough, it’s like Donna’s voice has slunk down his throat. It’s almost like Cassandra’s got his tongue, except he’s pretty sure no one’s squeezing back his brain this time…this time. This time. Now.

It hits him.

“ _No._ Oh, you are kidding me.” It’s happening again. He’s dreaming it again. “No way. One heart. I've only got one heart. This body has got only one heart.”

“What, like you're human?” Of course, wasn’t she listening? One of his hearts has gone and wandered off like they always do and now it’s probably lounging around in someone else’s chest cavity. And lucky him, he just gets numb sort of hole. Like gangrene.

“Oh, that's disgusting.”

“Oi!”

He’s starting to get a little sick of the clicker training. He mimics her and shoots back his own “Oi!” Because frankly, he’s a Time Lord, not a dog, and it’s hard enough to think as it is without interruptions. Rubbish dream. Something like this before?

“Stop it,” Donna says. So she’s tired the back-and-forth as well. He ignores her.

“No, wait.” He strikes a deal with his synapses and something snaps into place. “I'm part Time Lord, part human.” Some sort of weird pressure squeezes his lungs a little and he doesn’t feel quite so bouncy anymore. “Well, isn't that wizard?”

Funny, this usually goes the other direction. Frail to bulletproof. He’s pretty sure he died once kneeling on the floor of Satellite Five. Gave it all up and let his hearts go out. Rose…she was burning herself up like Gwyneth a lifetime ago in Cardiff. Channeling a power too big for her fragile human shell. For a moment, she was transcendent. Then she brought him back. He’s not quite sure why. 

Brought Jack back, too, and he can’t quite imagine how it would feel to die stuck in the same skin forever.

 _We-e-ell._ No use at all dwelling in that, not one bit, so he sets his lagging brain to figure out what’s the point of this déjà vu, and whether or not it’s worth it to wake up now. If he’s being honest, he’s never quite sure where the dream ends.

Strange things, timelines, and they’re all wriggling around Donna in a way he’s never seen before.

They were wriggling.

They will wriggle?

He’s _really_ starting to wish his time sense was working properly, because he can’t make them out clearly, but a tingle in his fingers definitely confirms something’s off. Try selling that vague mess to Donna. _The condensed story it is, then._ He tries to tell her how she’s at the center of it all, but she looks at him like he’s some sort of alien. Like the first day they met.

“But…why me?” Donna asks. Honestly, humans. They ask the strangest questions sometimes.

“Because you’re special.” Simple as a quadratic equation.

“Oh, I keep telling you. I’m not.” Donna says it like it something important he needs to remember. He’s arrested. Not by the look in her eyes (his sight’s gone fuzzy again), but something in her posture. She looks at him like he’s daft, cooing over something the cat dragged in. But he’s not, he’s just talking to _her_ about why time’s gone squiggly around her. Why doesn’t she just...?

She really doesn’t get it, does she?

“All that attitude, all that lip, because all this time you think you're not worth it.” She recoils like he’s _slapped_ her.

“Stop it.” She tries to shut the door on the conversation but he’s stuck on the point. Because he’s wondered, how has someone as empathetic as Donna grown such a thick skin, and now that he’s finally picking at it he can’t bring himself to stop.

“Shouting at the world because no one's listening. Well, why should they?”

“Doctor? Stop it.” Her question’s almost meek. Somehow it cuts deeper than a shout.   
  
He shuts up and checks to see what his brain’s come up with about their situation. Donna’s done so much, and so much for him, but something larger than them’s going on and he can’t remember how the pieces fit together. It’s funny, he swears he’s had this dream before.

* * *

_There’s a kind of white moth, I don’t know_   
_what kind, that glimmers_   
_by mid-May_   
_in the forest, just_   
_as the pink mocassin flowers_   
_are rising._   
  
_If you notice anything,_   
_it leads you to notice_   
_more_   
_and more._   
  
_And anyway_   
_I was so full of energy._   
_I was always running around, looking_   
_at this and that._   
  
_If I stopped_   
_the pain_   
_was unbearable._   
  
_If I stopped and thought, maybe_   
_the world_   
_can’t be saved,_   
_the pain_   
_was unbearable._

_..._

Excerpt from "The Moths"

Mary Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha. So I posted this without doing a line edit and it showed. Hopefully things are a little cleaner and clearer now.
> 
> I’ve caved and decided to dump everything on you today. For another great moth-y thing that’s not quite poetry but near it, check out Annie Dillard’s [“The Death of the Moth.”](https://nabuckler.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/the-death-of-the-mothhandout.pdf)
> 
> Today’s story brought to you by Blackmore’s Night, a “medieval rock folk band.” It sounds sort of like Mannheim Steamroller met Erutan in a ren fair tavern? Anyways, songs of the day are [Loreley ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1oRC6by83A&list=PLQOYV_zfmskxK1fWoLNTAwAb9JatMokbr&index=8)and [Ghost of a Rose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mrcu8NG7Bys&list=PLQOYV_zfmskxK1fWoLNTAwAb9JatMokbr&index=7).
> 
> Bishop’s castle is a Colorodo redneck-libertarian Hogwarts with exactly the same considerations for physical safety. It's grand. I love it.  
> [Full view of the castle](https://assets.atlasobscura.com/media/W1siZiIsInVwbG9hZHMvcGxhY2VfaW1hZ2VzLzU4NWNiZjZlZTAxMmJiOWM5Y182OGE5NjNiMjE2ZTE1MzA2YjFfQmlzaG9wX0Nhc3RsZTJfRmFpcnZpZXdfQ08gKDEpLmpwZyJdLFsicCIsInRodW1iIiwiNTgweDU4MCMiXSxbInAiLCJjb252ZXJ0IiwiLXF1YWxpdHkgODEgLWF1dG8tb3JpZW50Il1d/68a963b216e15306b1_Bishop_Castle2_Fairview_CO%20%281%29.jpg), the[ turret the Nine, Rose, and Jack scene takes place in,](https://theoffbeatpathdotnet.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/20160729_143423-jpg.png?w=720&h=768&crop=1) the [view of some stairs](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7uUMS2uxs2c/WJz5VPwzMyI/AAAAAAAAVwA/sjE6clVIORgdYWrpZasbxAaslDhGU6fYgCLcB/s1600/P1050032.JPG), the [view from under the ironwork](https://shadesoftangerine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/bishops-castle-7-1024x768.jpg), and last but not least, [the libertarian signs](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5ZqjBoFg9eg/UEIwFprB5wI/AAAAAAAAE9M/tB9BTErK-r4/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG). 
> 
> It has been a rough weekend but that made writing a lot more pleasant today! I did some weird stuff with this chapter so I'd love to hear from you about your thoughts!


	13. ’Twas brillig

* * *

“You're talking like destiny. There's no such thing. Is there?” Donna asks, crouched next to him on the grating next to the console.

Destiny? Best not think about that. _Think. Think_.

“It's still not finished. It's like the pattern's not complete.” Whatever is going on, it’s nothing like a fractal. He’s sure the pieces are staring at him in the face, but he’s standing neck-deep in it. Too close to it all. He can’t make heads or tails about the pattern at large. _And it is something large_. He’s not sure he likes that voice. “The strands are still drawing together. But heading for what?”

“D’ya even know where we’re heading? Honestly, Doc, you’d be a lot better date if you weren’t the designated driver.” Jack is sprawled over the jumpseat. The Doctor ignores him and focuses on letting his hands finish soldering two wires. _Gah!_ He yanks his hands back with a start. Those wires really are hot.

Rose snorts and he almost starts blushing. _Well, honestly. S’not like it’s easy cobbling together a world-saving device_. World…saving? He can’t remember designing…whatever his hands are doing. _Come off it, you can’t even remember walking here_ _and you’re worked up over a bit of tinkering?_ Rose shook her head at him, still smiling, and strode over.

“What’s it do?”

Before he can remember the answer, she gives a little gasp and clutches at her chest, doubling over. He wants to run to her. He can’t. He’s frozen stuck as shining little wires sprout up from her heart. Seconds, and she’s gone silver. Metal edges around her face. With an anguished yelp, she gives him one last pleading look before a blank faceplate slides down, closing her off.

When she reaches out and steps toward him with a clanging thud, he almost drops the device in his hands to cover his ears. He doesn’t want to hear her say it. _Delete_. 

“So what’s that, then?” He flinches, and this time it’s Donna, not Rose, that’s doing the asking, and Jack’s nowhere to be found.

“I…well.” He finally _looks_ at the thing in his hands. No swiveling bits or blinking lights. One end’s got a great big cone around it like it’s a dog fresh from the vet. _Now don’t you go licking any wounds._ There’s a handle poking down, and the other end’s got a sphere with holes in it, bit like a whiffle ball, and is pulsing a soft orange. He can tell it’s almost finished, and he knows there was a reason. _But what does it **do**?_

“Oh, all right. Don’t know why I bother asking, you great prune. Great big brain, and all I ever get is technobabble or plain nonsense. Anyways, what’s going on with that Z-neutrino stuff? _You_ looked like someone walked right over your grave.”

Oh.

Just like that, he is there. Is then. There is nothing in his hands. Something _is_ burning, only it’s not his body and it’s not the console room this time. The TARDIS is sitting in flames and he can’t let _that_ stand. He swings up and around the console, activating her extrapolator shields.

Once she’s safe and there’s no chance of burning, he makes for the monitor. How long has it been? He can’t remember…something about Donna in a wedding dress, but he can’t tell if it’s been a day or a year. Before he can dwell on it, something on the screen catches his eye and he starts asking different questions.

A furnace…z-neutrino energy. Who—and _how_?

No shields. Precious few can do that, and almost all need inside access. He’s _fairly_ certain it’s only him and Donna in here, and the TARDIS isn’t about to burn herself up. He keys in a command and the monitor zooms out.

Twenty-seven planets around them, jerked away from their birthplace. He’s _sure_ , well, hard to say _exactly_ , but…wait, hadn’t Martha called him?

Daleks. Not in Manhattan.

27 planets in the sky, optimized to compress single-string z-neutrinos. Because _Rassilon_ , ghosts never could stay dead.

Now he remembers what he’s building. _Only ever one choice, isn’t there?_

Must have all happened while Rose got converted.

“Spaceman?” Donna’s looking at him like he’s fragile again.

Is he? He can tell that his sense of dread’s trying to crack itself open like an egg. Instead of letting it spill itself all over him, he decides he’ll deal with it later. What’s the use of his time sense going on the fritz if he’s going to wallow in the present?

“This? Ah, just a little gizmo I’m cooking up. Cooking up, not very pleasant, is it? Never understood 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' quite the same way before. Now _that’s_ the sort of thing they ought to tell you, 'don’t touch the stove, stay out of frying pans, and whatever you do, don’t run with scissors or any other potentially hazardous object that’ll take your life given the chance!'” He starts to wave the biological inversion catalyzer in the air before he realizes he’s being reckless and makes an exaggerated gesture to lay it down again. Donna laughs at him. She’s starting to relax. Good. Someone ought to.

…

The woman next to Jackie was utterly hysterical. Jackie couldn’t blame her, really—she wasn't so thick so as to have forgotten her own first encounter. Murderous dummies on the street—never thought she’d be killed by a plastic twig in a wedding dress, but then again, she never expected to kill an alien with the noxious contents of Mickey’s cupboard, either. By now, being shepherded by conquering aliens seemed almost routine. 

“THE FEMALE WILL BE SILENT.” Oh, lord, if the poor sap next to her didn’t shut it soon, she was going to end up like that family. Jackie couldn’t do much, but she reached for the woman’s hand and gave it a squeeze. _Easy does it, now_.

The Daleks led them through the streets towards one of their ships. Flying saucers. As if this alien invasion couldn’t get any more surreal! She caught Mickey’s eyes and rolled her eyes. Sarah Jane saw the exchange and barely contained a snort before quickly looking straight ahead. One of the Daleks next to her swiveled its eyestalk at them but seemed to decide there was nothing to say.

They trudged alongside the other prisoners up a great big ramp into the ship. It was dark and spacious inside. Daleks zoomed about in formations. Jackie shuddered involuntarily. The prisoners were passed off from their handlers to a new group of Daleks, who started herding them into a big clump and forced them up a steep ramp onto a platform lined with roundels. There weren’t any walls or railings of any sort. _Just why exactly are they putting us here?_

People continued to load the platform until Jackie could feel her neighbors press against her. _Hang on, what’s going on?_ _Add a few more and we won’t fit_. Just when Jackie thought there wasn’t room for a single more human being aboard the platform, a Dalek voice droned out.

“THE LOADING IS COMPLETE. COMMENCE TRANSPORT.”

 _Loading? Hang on_ —

Jackie threw her head back and registered the bizarre machinery overhead just as a burst of light shot down and blinded her. Before she could free her hand to shield her eyes, a warm tingling sensation spread across her entire body until she thought she would burst. She didn’t _have_ arms—she was just a boneless sack of electric bees!

As soon as it started, the uncomfortable warmth subsided and feeling, proper, ordinary feeling returned to her limbs. _What the **hell** was that?_ Jackie blinked back spots. All around her, people were coughing, murmuring, and crying. The woman next to her had started hyperventilating and even though Jackie’s vision was still blurry and her limbs tingling, she reached out to squeeze the woman’s hand again.

“Breathe, love.” Jackie risked whispering. “Slowly. One, two, three, four. There, that’s a good girl.” She patted her back and kept counting with the woman but kept her eyes peeled for marauding Daleks. The room around them had _changed_. _Oh, as if dimension hopping isn’t bad enough!_ They’d off and _teleported_ somewhere.

As the crowd’s buzz started to build, sure enough, a Dalek cut them off.

“THE PRISONERS WILL BE SILENT AND PROCEED TO THE DESIGNATED AREA.” It was waving its little cattle-prod arm menacingly. _Oh, if **I** had my way with you_—

Someone pushed into her. The crowd had shoved forward and was following after the Dalek like it was the Pied Piper himself. She glanced back—ah. Daleks in the rear. Now wasn’t that an absolute pain in the—

“Jackie!” Mickey hissed. He flicked his eyes to where the Daleks were separating the stream of people into different groups. _Oh no_ …They were sending them down different hallways. If she could just get closer…She pushed forward to try and reach him and Sarah Jane and wove through the cramp. Now that they were moving, it wasn’t as tight as before.

She had almost reached him when they reached the doorway where the Daleks were separating the crowd. First Sarah Jane, and then Mickey were sent off to the left. Mickey craned his head after her even as he started walking away. Jackie held her breath as she approached the Dalek. She could see right into its blue eyestalk. _Which way?_ Her heart thudded in her chest. And then, with a flick of its zapper, the Dalek sent her after Mickey. Her breath fled in a whoosh of relief, and she followed Mickey into the dark tunnel.

…

“THE TARDIS HAS BEEN DESTROYED. NOW TELL ME, DOCTOR. WHAT DO YOU FEEL? ANGER? SORROW? DESPAIR?”

It was gone.

Just like that. For real this time. No impossibly last-minute saves.

He wasn’t reacting. The Doctor was just standing there, rigid and shaking.

“Yeah,” he said.

“THEN IF EMOTIONS ARE SO IMPORTANT, SURELY WE HAVE ENHANCED YOU?”

_Enhanced?!_

“Yeah? Feel this!” Jack charged the Dalek. It was going to— _No!_

“EXTERMINATE!” All she could see was light as the Doctor held her back and shielded her with his body.

And just like that, Jack was dead, too.

“Jack.” Rose let go of the Doctor and rushed towards Jack’s corpse. He couldn’t be. “Oh, my God. Oh, no.”

“Rose, come here. Leave him,” the Doctor said tonelessly. The words floated over like she was underwater. She bit her lip.

“They killed him,” she said, tears threatening to spill over.

“I know. I'm sorry,” he said, but the words didn’t reach his eyes. 

“ESCORT THEM TO THE VAULT.”

“There's nothing we can do,” the Doctor said, and when she looked back at him, she could see something burning underneath his blank expression. She stood up as a Dalek approached her and walked back to the safety of the Doctor.

“THEY ARE THE PLAYTHINGS OF DAVROS NOW.” _No, it **wouldn’t** end like this. _  
They were going to drag Jack’s body away. This time, the Doctor slipped his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. She couldn’t look away from the corpse.

And then—

It _winked?_

…

The tunnel amplified their footsteps so that it sounded like there were hundreds of prisoners instead of a few handfuls. It seemed to go on forever. Jackie looked at the stream of people around her. Good, her neighbor had followed her. She didn’t want to leave the poor thing alone—didn’t seem like she had any family with her. She wanted to ask her name, but when she glanced at one of the Daleks accompanying them, she thought better of it. If her own _breathing_ was going echo around and cause such a commotion, speaking was off-limits. If only she was one of those mind-readers. Rose's Doctor—couldn't he do something like that?—downright creepy if you asked her, but Jackie had to admit it seemed dead useful at the moment. If only she could communicate with Mickey and Sarah Jane and figure out what the _hell_ the plan was now.

And _where_ were they? Spaceship? Dalek homeworld? Some prison facility? She had no earthly idea. The tunnel had turned and branched off enough times that she’d lost track of where they were. Almost as bad as bloody Torchwood, this was. There were only a few Daleks alongside them—enough to kill them if they tried to break for it, but hardly the battle-formation from the teleport. Jackie’s neighbor was panting a little, even though they weren’t walking too briskly. The woman allowed herself a few tears but kept quiet.

Just when Jackie thought she was going to go mad from suspense, a Dalek led them through a doorway into a gloomy chamber. It was filled with gleaming machinery. Jackie narrowed her eyes at a nearby contraption. _First they teleport us to heaven knows where, and then they section us off here?_ _What’s going on?_

“PRISONERS WILL STAND IN THE DESIGNATED AREA. MOVE! MOVE!” There was a circle inscribed on the ground.

“Ah!” The woman next to her had stumbled, twisted her ankle or something, and had collapsed on the ground. Jackie stayed at her side. Stranger or no, no one deserved to face Dalek captors alone.

…

The Daleks dragged not-dead Jack away. Rose was too busy trying to conceal her squabbling mess of emotions to notice someone new approaching.

“Activate the holding cells.” That voice jerked her to attention. Someone had drawn near in the darkness of the room. It was gliding along like a Dalek, but the voice...the voice was more organic. As it left the shadows, light fell across the misshhapen thing. It was the shriveled old man she’d seen on the subwave network. Skin desiccated and eyes shrunken, with a glowing blue light like a Dalek eye embedded in his forehead. Davros. _Creator_ of the Dalek race. _That’s just twisted._ At his command, some sort of bright light shone down on them and she flinched into the Doctor’s arms.

“Excellent. Even when powerless, a Time Lord is best contained.” They were safe, then. Or at least, unharmed. 

“Still scared of me, then?” The Doctor wasn’t shaking anymore. The calm, hard edge in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“It is time we talked, Doctor. After so very long.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” He sounded disgusted. “We're not doing the nostalgia tour. I want to know what's happening right here, _right now_ , because the Supreme Dalek said 'vault,' yeah? As in dungeon, cellar, prison.” He was on a roll. Something flickered in her memory—the first trip she’d ever gone on with him. ‘ _I'm full of ideas, just bristling with them_.’ Right before he stood to the side and watched Cassandra die with his arms folded across his chest.

“You're not in charge of the Daleks, are you? They've got you locked away down here in the basement like, what, a servant? Slave? Court jester?” The words dripped from his tongue. It was like Davros was the only one in the room.

“We have an arrangement.”

“No, no, no, no, no. No, _I've_ got the word. You're the Daleks’ _pet!”_ he spat. Rose tightened her grip on his compulsively. _Doctor, you’re scaring me_. 

Fortunately, Davros didn’t explode in rage. He just laughed and turned his sunken-eyed stare on _her_ instead.

“So very full of fire, is he not? And to think you crossed entire universes, striding parallel to parallel to find him again.” She straightened up, but something inside of her cringed.

“Leave her alone,” the Doctor said. He edged in front of her. 

Davros chuckled. “She is mine to do as I please.” **_His?_**

Rose snapped back at him. “Then why am I still alive?”

“You must be here,” he said without even shrugging. “It was foretold. Even the Supreme Dalek would not dare to contradict the prophecies of Dalek Caan.”

A warbling, gleeful voice rang out. “So COLD and dark. FIRE is coming. The endless _flames_.” It was almost a Dalek voice, and yet…not. In the corner of the room, pale light shone down on a slimy, exposed thing sitting on Dalek armor. Chains wrapped around its casing, but the quivering thing inside showed no signs of escape.

“What _is_ that thing?” Rose asked, unable to keep the horror from her voice. She waited for Davros to answer. Instead, the Doctor answered her softly.

“You've met before. The last of the Cult of Skaro.” She remembered and held the Doctor a little tighter. After only a moment's restraint, he blurted out an objection. 

“But it flew into the Time War, unprotected.” There was something naked about the question. It was like he couldn't stop himself from asking. Davros looked more than pleased to anwer. 

“Caan did more than that. He saw time. Its infinite complexity and majesty, raging through his mind. And he saw you. Both of you.”

“THIS I have foreseen, in the WILD and the WIND. The Doctor will be here as witness, at the end of _everything_. The Doctor and his precious Children of Time. AND ONE OF THEM WILL DIE!”

The Doctor jerked out of her arms as if to attack. Rose tugged him closer. “Was it you, Caan? _Did you kill Donna_? Why did the Tardis door close? TELL ME!”

“Oh, that's it.” Davros’ face split in a grotesque grin. “The anger, the fire, the _rage_ of a Time Lord who butchered millions.” The Doctor stiffened. “There he is. Why so _shy?_ Show your companion. Show her your true self. Dalek Caan has promised me that too.”

“I have _seen_. At the time of ending, THE DOCTOR'S SOUL will be _revealed_.”

“What does that _mean?_ ” Rose tried to pull him back but he acted like she wasn’t even there.

Davros waved his hand and started gliding away in his chair. “We will discover it together. Our final journey. Because the ending approaches. The testing begins.” Davros’s words had barely left his mouth before the Doctor interrupted.

“Testing of what?”

Davros smiled.

“The Reality bomb.”

…

 _Twenty-seven planets hanging in the sky, each unique and stolen from time_. Almost sounds like a nursery rhyme when you say it that way. A grim nursery rhyme, anyways. Total enslavement before the end of existence and all. His hearts—heart—spasms for a moment and he almost drops the catalyzer. He picks it up before he can start to prod at the numb hole where the other heart should be.

 _Well, most fairytales are_. Donna’s trying not to ask questions, he can tell, but she’s a terrible liar, so he shoes her off to the console where she can take a look for herself. Cyber-Rose is standing in the corner of his vision, but if he doesn’t look at her, he can pretend she’s just part of the blur. Funny, his eyes are all blurry again. It’s like someone’s gone and smeared Vaseline on his lenses, tried to make the scene all romantic and glowy, but it just feels like he’s reeling blind. Surely it hasn’t been more than an hour? But it feels like he’s been in here for days.

No, no, no, nope. Not going to think about time right now. Besides, it’s a dream and dreams are the one place he can feel time sliding through his fingers like melting cheese. Only place the war feels as real as it should be. Was. Is.

No, no, no, NO. He’s not going down this track now.

He tries taking off his glasses and rubbing at them, but they slip out of his grasp and clatter to the grating instead. He’s back at Bishop’s castle again. Jack’s fallen down the stairs. His neck’s hanging the wrong way and his eyes have gone glassy. Cyber Rose reaches for the body, but it awakes with a gasp just in time to be shocked back to death. Over and over. The Doctor has to shut it down, shut _her_ down, but the thought freezes him stiff just as she turns and reaches to delete him.

“Dropped something, spaceman?” He’s back in the TARDIS, and Cyber Rose has retreated, and there’s glasses hovering in front of his face.

“You'll have to see the optometrist soon at this rate. Gone and scratched them up something fierce, that's for sure. Are these lenses even real?” The Doctor snatches the frame from her hands and puts them back on. “Wouldn’t put it past you to wear falsies. Not enough to be the smartest one in the room, you have to look the part as well.” She looks at him and hesitates.

“Doctor?”

“Aaaalmost finished, just have to connect the conpulsizer to the catalyzing threads,” he says, cutting her off and hurrying to finish. Time’s ticking, time’s ticking away, and he doesn’t know how long he has left. He has to hurry, has to get back there, because if he doesn’t, if he’s too slow, Davros will win this round, only it will be game over. The cycle will be broken, and everything will blink black and turn to dust. Except for the Daleks.

RIGHT, time to land now, because even if the catalyzing threads are rattling around a bit, he can’t chance arriving late.

…

“ON YOUR FEET. ON YOUR FEET!” The Daleks’ knickers were in a bloody twist as Jackie helped the woman back up. No, it wasn’t enough for them to take everyone prisoner, they had to _rush_ them at the first sign of weakness. Well, even if she was scared, Jackie certainly wasn’t about to show them.

“There you are, love.” What did could the Daleks possibly want with all these humans? Wasn’t like Torchwood had a zoo of alien prisoners in its basement. Well. Torchwood wasn’t run by bioengineered hate-tentacles. Wait a second, where was—

Just perfect. Sometime during the commotion, Mickey’d gone and run off with Sarah Jane. She’d missed the signal entirely. They’d secreted themselves behind a great metal door.

“PRISONERS WILL STAND IN THE DESIGNATED AREA.” _All right, all right!_ A Dalek glided right past Mickey and Sarah Jane’s door, and they ducked out of view.

“What does it mean?” The woman next to her had collected herself, and only a hint of panic crept out in her voice. “What are they testing? What are they going to do?”

Jackie didn’t know what to say.

No good answer, really. But she looked up, and sure enough, they were standing under what looked like a different version of the transport from earlier, this time glowing green.

“I reckon it's that thing there.” Heavens above. How was she supposed to get out of this one? She looked back at the door. Mickey was back at the glass, and he was—shouting at her? Mouthing something? _What_ —

He waved something small. Small and yellow. The hopper! Sure enough, she checked in her pockets, and the little green light was blinking happily back at her. A way out! She flicked the switch on the back.

But—

She looked at the woman next to her.

Nothing she could do, was there?

“I’m so sorry,” Jackie whispered. She felt guilt twist her guts even as she said it.

She hit the button and spun into nothing.

When she rematerialized and found her feet again, she was standing with Mickey at the window watching the machine run above the prisoners’ heads.

The woman was staring at the spot where Jackie had stood, eyes full of raw dismay. She looked around (accusingly), and Jackie watched as the humans began to gently dissolve into dust from the tip of their heads to their toes.

* * *

_’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves_   
_Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:_   
_All mimsy were the borogoves,_   
_And the mome raths outgrabe._

_“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!_   
_The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!_   
_Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun_   
_The frumious Bandersnatch!”_

_He took his vorpal sword in hand;_   
_Long time the manxome foe he sought—_   
_So rested he by the Tumtum tree_   
_And stood awhile in thought._

_And, as in uffish thought he stood,_   
_The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,_   
_Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,_   
_And burbled as it came!_

_..._

_’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves_   
_Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:_   
_All mimsy were the borogoves,_   
_And the mome raths outgrabe._

Exerpt from "Jabberwocky"

Lewis Caroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind and inspiring comments! Seriously, they've been sustaining me. Even the two-word kind!
> 
> Jabberwocky because...well. Just seemed fitting.


	14. A Time When it was Not

* * *

Rose felt the Doctor’s hand go slack in hers. His shoulders slumped and he breathed heavily. He was still in his own world with Davros at its center. Rose wished she could wipe Davros’ sickening smile off his face. From a speaker somewhere, a Dalek voice buzzed a countdown. Some sort of test…she couldn’t hear their words clearly but it didn’t sound good. Rose felt the small hope that had bloomed in her since Jack winked at them drain out of her. _Oh, no_. She’d found the paradigm origin—right outside the invisible walls of her holding cell. There were no clever disappearing tricks left to pull. And the Doctor…he was just as trapped as she was and unresponsive. She hadn’t seen him this bad in a long time. Rose kept holding his limp hand and touched his shoulder tentatively. He didn’t react.

Davros turned again to face them. “Behold. The apotheosis of my genius.” He flicked some switches on his casing and a holoscreen flickered to life in front of them. She didn’t want to watch whatever he had to show her, but she couldn’t keep her eyes away from the screen. It was just…people. There was a crowd of humans looking about, bewildered and scared. They seemed to be in a similarly dim place, a ship by the looks of it, but from the angle on the screen, it seemed like their ceiling was higher than Rose’s current room. The view zoomed in closer so she could see their faces more clearly. Scared seemed like an understatement. They were panicked, bordering on terrified, and surrounded by Daleks. From the new angle, she could see some sort of machinery mounted to the ceiling above them.

Orders coming across some kind of intercom system cut into her thoughts. “FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE, ZERO. ACTIVATE PLANETARY ALIGNMENT FIELD.”

When the Doctor finally spoke, he was almost too quiet. “That's Z-neutrino energy—” his voice sped up “—flattened by the alignment of the planets into a single string.” His whole body stiffened. “No, Davros. Davros, you _can't_!” He was going to hurl himself at Davros. Rose held his arm. “You can't! No!” Raw desperation cracked his voice.

They could only watch as the people on the screen were reduced to ash before their eyes. 

…

Jackie could only stare at the place where the people had been standing. It could have been her. It would have been her. And all those people…their families…no one would know. They were just… _gone_. Just like that.

“ _Mum, just promise me.”_

 _"And why would I do daft thing like that? Promise not to follow you into danger? Sweetheart, if you think I’m just going to let you walk away like that, you’ve got your head on backwards.”_ Rose had thrown her head back and growled in frustration.

“Mum, I’m telling you. It’s dangerous out there.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Rose started pacing across the kitchen. “Of course you do, you think you do, but Mum, knowing about it and being in the middle of it are two _completely_ different things.” Before Jackie could respond, Rose cut her off.

“I don’t mean you can’t do anything, that’s not what I meant. It’s just, Mum. You’ve never been away from Earth before, and maybe it’s something we know. Maybe it’s cybermen, or Krillitane, but maybe it’s something none of us has seen before, an’ you won’t _know_ how to react. Maybe you’ll have to run at it screaming to scare it off, or maybe one sound and it’ll bite your head off.

“And you will?”

Rose seized a fistful of her own hair and let out her breath in a huff. “I don’t _know_ , mum. I don’t know. But what I do know is that if someone’s got to run into the thick of it, _I’m_ the one with the experience—I just don’t want to watch you get hurt.” Jackie made a face. _Now_ she gets it, does she? The tables had finally turned. Had it really been too much to ask that Rose show a little of this maturity back when she was a teenager?

Rose must have taken her irony for skepticism. “I’m not trying to pull one over you, Mum. ‘S just...Mum, you’ve got all this.” Rose flicked her eyes about the room. “’Sides, there’s really not much anyone can do in the thick of it, ‘specially if you’re not armed. Just—If we find something dangerous over there and we get separated, or I’m trapped or something bad, you’ve got to _promise_ me you won’t go after me.”

“’S just a bit rich, coming from you,” Jackie said. Rose snorted _. Good._ Surely Rose knew how ridiculous she sounded, little miss-broke-open-a-bleeding- _time-machine_ to rescue her daft alien. 

“I know, mum. But things are different now.”

“And what am I supposed to do, run and hide?”

“’Course not. You’ve got to do something, run for help. Find someone who can help. You know Torchwood, I’ve put their number in your mobile and you can find a phone box or something when we’re back there. You know about UNIT—if I’m kidnapped by aliens, someone there will be negotiating with ‘em. Or you could try Harriet Jones—don’t look at me like that, ‘s not like she’ll be the prime minister anymore.” Now Jackie really was skeptical. “Look, she’ll have _contacts_ —put you in touch with the right people, you know, the kind who’ve got weapons and shields and stuff. You don’t have to hide, just don’t make a go at aliens trying to save me without backup. Just bring some help with you, that’s all I’m askin’.”

Jackie looked at her daughter. Rose was staring at her earnestly from across the kitchen island. Jackie sighed. “Fine. I won’t come after you alone.” Rose visibly relaxed. “But I’m not sayin’ I won’t come after you, you hear that?” Rose gave a little grin and hung her head ruefully.

“No, suppose that’d be too much to ask,” she said, shaking her head.

“And don’t you forget it. Now you’d better stay for dinner, mind you, and stay until Tony’s sleeping.” Rose stiffened ever-so-slightly. “I don’t care what ridiculous notions are runnin’ round in your head, if you insist tonight’s your goodbye, you’re not going to cut it short by running off early.” Rose smiled, and it almost looked natural enough to fool Jackie into thinking Rose wanted to stay. Almost.

“Promise I won’t mum. I’ll do the washin’ up and everything.”

“Oh, _now_ she wants to. Tell me, you rascal, why’s it take aliens and the end of the world to get you to do a few chores around the place?” Rose laughed, and they kept talking as they made their way towards the sitting room where Tony was mucking about with his toys.

Seemed like an age ago, even though it was only a few days past.

It struck Jackie that taking Mickey and following Sarah Jane unarmed into a mess of Daleks didn’t exactly count as bringing backup. And _God_ , she’d almost died. Paralysis enveloped her. Her hands trembled slightly.

This was exactly what Rose meant, wasn’t it? Watching aliens take over from afar and strolling right into their nest were _completely_ different.

She would have died, and Rose would have no idea what happened. And Pete would never know. Rose had warned her—said it was different in the thick of things.

How did she manage?

Jackie might have stood there forever, but all of a sudden, a panel near their feet opened up and a man rolled out. She stared as he joined them in the cramped space behind the port window.

“Just my luck. I climb through two miles of ventilation shafts, chasing life signs on this thing, and who do I find? Mickey Mouse,” the man said, before hugging Mickey. Jackie gaped. Apparently, there was another human running around this place, and didn’t you know? Everyone knew each other, not that they cared to keep her in the loop. It was downright claustrophobic in this little space. _You know what they say: three’s a crowd_. Sarah Jane had brought out some sort of diamond, said it was a weapon. Seemed daft, but Jackie wasn’t about to start defining what was impossible anymore.

Huh, between the four of them, it almost felt like they were approaching backup. They were yammering on, though, so Jackie prepared to cut to the quick and get them back on track: they needed a way to get out, and fast. Before she could open her mouth, Sarah Jane spoke.

“You've got to understand. I have a son down there on Earth. He's only fourteen years old,” she said. Jackie’s unspoken words slid back down her throat and settled, cold and slimy, in the pit of her stomach. Tony. He would be at school right now. Completely unsuspecting as the stars vanished, until—come off it, what was even waiting to stop it? That lot back at home were helpless and running blind like headless chickens. What did Torchwood or anyone else have on Daleks? No one could stop them. Not even stand in their way, not really.

That was Rose’s job. Her face flashed in Jackie’s mind—her taut smile and drawn eyes, the way her heart was never at home, the way she hung back and fidgeted at parties and dinners and family night before giving one of her constant _excuses_ and slipping out the back door. Always acting, never really present, like she was bored or even ashamed of their mundane lives, Jackie’d thought. Rose, so preoccupied with her glamorous job and wild adventures that she’d forgotten what made living _matter_.

She hadn’t really been chasing diamonds in the sky, had she?

Those people. Not even corpses left. Jackie couldn’t get them out of her head. They were going to haunt her to the end of her days. Rose—she must have seen this before. Running and running and running away because someone’s got to do _something._

The Daleks…they really could destroy everything, couldn’t they?

 _They will._ She didn’t even feel the realization hit her. It just seemed natural, plain as day. It was a fact, sure as hangovers and TV licenses. Trying to stop them was as useless as scooping water in a sieve.

Rose—they took her. If she’d been there, those people wouldn’t have—

If Rose was—

_Don’t you dare think like that._

_They took Rose and her Doctor. Lassoed ‘em up and took them away._ That had to mean something. She was alive and kicking somewhere—Rose knew her way around aliens and she wouldn’t have got herself shot.

But that family on the street—not even a warning and they were dead on the ground—

Rose _was_ alive, and Jackie was going to find her. She couldn’t stop Daleks, but she could at least find her daughter. Find Rose, find the Doctor, and run somewhere to shelter until they could MacGyver something, anything.

…

The Doctor wasn’t fighting her anymore. He was panting and his eyes were unfocused. His thoughts looked a thousand miles away.

“Doctor,” she said gently, but firmly. Nothing. He didn’t respond. _“_ What happened?” _We’re here and now, Doctor_. Not so much as a blink. It was like he couldn’t even hear her. Davros took it upon himself to fill the silence.

“Electrical energy, Miss Tyler.” She ignored him. The Doctor was still, but sort of shivering. She rubbed her thumb in circles on the back of his hand.

“Every atom in existence is bound by an electrical field. The Reality bomb cancels it out.”

Just like that, _wham_ , she was in the vacuum of space again. The air in her lungs, gone in an instant.

“Structure falls apart. That test was focused on the prisoners alone. Full transmission will dissolve every form of matter.”

“The stars are going out,” she whispered involuntarily. No. Couldn’t end like this. Air, she needed air. She felt frozen to the floor, but her eyes darted wildly around. No exits. Still no exits. _I have to—_

“The twenty-seven planets.” The Doctor spoke up softly. His voice—even low like that it felt like home. He was still next to her. Her breathing eased. “They become one vast transmitter, blasting that wavelength.” His voice was grim, but he squeezed her hand.

Davros’ smile widened sadistically. “Across the entire universe. Never stopping, never faltering, never fading. People and planets and stars will become dust, and the dust will become atoms, and the atoms will become nothing.” He kept talking, getting louder and more emphatic. “And the wavelength will continue, breaking through the Rift at the heart of the Medusa Cascade into every dimension, every parallel—” hot rage surged through Rose, “—every single corner of creation. THIS is my ultimate victory, Doctor! The destruction of reality itself!” Davros cackled, and they could hear his legions gathering in droves as their voices blared across the speaker. 

“WE WILL BECOME THE ONLY LIFE FORMS IN EXISTENCE!”

…

Donna tries to ask a question but this time he just shushes her. The question is still there. It’s sitting perched on his shoulder with all the other ones. They’re getting heavy. He can feel her words start to bore into his brain. The unasked ones are almost worse than the ones spoken aloud—they crowd around until he’s sagging under their weight. They’re less sharp, maybe, but more overwhelming.

“What was it? Doctor, what did it do?” He remembers whacking that one miles away like a tennis ball heading straight for the face. He is _not_ going to think what Davros did—will do—is doing. But the question’s a persistent little bugger. It’s back, biting and poking and gnawing its way through in his brain, and it brought friends. He can’t keep them back as they swarm closer.

What did it do, Doctor? What was it? What did it do? What’s z-nuetrino energy? So it destroys the Daleks? You going to shoot me, Doctor? Wouldn’t she make you laugh again, Doctor? Which one of us will it be, Doctor? What are you waiting for, Doctor? Will we ever meet again, Doctor? What did it feel like, Doctor? Live as a Dalek, Doctor? Die as a human, Doctor? Destroyer of Worlds, Doctor?

Doctor Doctor Doctor Doctor.

Landing. _Now_. He clutches the catalyzer as he sets the coordinates.

* * *

_Pain has an element of blank;  
It cannot recollect  
When it began, or if there was  
A time when it was not._

_It has no future but itself,  
Its infinite realms contain  
Its past, enlightened to perceive  
New periods of pain._

Emily Dickinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are coming up so we shall see how future updates go. It's been a stressful time already, to put things mildly. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story. It means a lot that you're enjoying this story with me, regardless of whether you've commented, given kudos, or read the words. I wish you the best in these trying times.


	15. Fearing it so long

* * *

Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand so hard she thought she could feel his heartbeat pulsing alongside her own. It was dangerously easy for his clammy hand to slip out of her sweaty grasp, and she was not letting go this time. _That’s it, then_. If this was the end, there were worse ways to go.

Then there was a new sound. Static. Almost like—

“INCOMING TRANSMISSION. ORIGIN PLANET EARTH.”

“DISPLAY!”

The holographic screen flickered to life, revealing a young black woman with her hair smartly pulled back. She was in some kind of dark jumpsuit—military then, or maybe UNIT—and was wearing what looked like a Kevlar-and-steel life preserver. Teleportation, maybe? It reminded her of Donna's time-jump getup, only more official. _Without the TARDIS, they shouldn’t be far enough along for time travel at any rate_ …

“This is Martha Jones, representing the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, on behalf of the human race.” The connection faded before flashing back. _UNIT it is_. The Doctor shifted next to Rose, and she looked over. He was watching the screen intently. _Does he know her?_ The woman onscreen repeated herself and directed them to put her through to the Crucible. “Can you hear me?”

“Put me through,” the Doctor said in a low voice. _She’s one of his friends._

Instead of chiding the Doctor for his impertinence, Davros looked only too happy to follow his direction, and he flicked something on the control panel on his casing as he spoke. “It begins as Dalek Caan foretold.”

Dalek Caan giggled. “The _Children of Time_ will gather, and one of them will DIE.”

“Stop saying that,” the Doctor hissed. “Put me through!” Rose glared at Davros, waiting alongside the Doctor.

Whatever controls Davros had flicked must have worked, because the woman on the screen spoke to them.

“Doctor! I'm sorry, I had to.”

Once again, Davros cut in before the Doctor could get a word off. “Oh, but the Doctor is powerless. My prisoner.” _Jack had the right idea._ Maybe her fist connecting to his jaw could wipe the smirk off his skull. “State your intent.”

The woman took a deep breath. “I've got the Osterhagen Key.” _Osterhagen what?_ Rose could tell from the set of the woman’s jaw that whatever it was, it wasn’t a laughing matter. “Leave this planet and its people alone, or I'll use it.” Beside Rose, the Doctor seemed as in the dark as Rose was. The woman continued.

“There's a chain of twenty-five nuclear warheads placed in strategic points beneath the Earth's crust. If I use the key, they detonate, and the Earth gets ripped apart.”

“Martha, are you _insane?_ ”

Martha lifted her chin a bit. Her eyes were blazing even as her voice trembled. “The Osterhagen Key is to be used if the suffering of the human race is so great, so without hope, that this becomes the final option.”

“That's never an option,” he shot back.

“Don't argue with me, Doctor!” Rose looked between the two of them and found herself agreeing with Martha. Something about being stuck on a single planet forced you to realize that “no way out” held its own kind of horrors.

“Because it's more than that,” Martha continued, and any hint of hesitation was gone. “Now, I reckon the Daleks need these twenty seven planets for something. But what if it becomes twenty-six? What happens then? Daleks? _Would you risk it?_ ”

She was bluffing. Rose could see in her eyes that she could do it, she _really_ could pull the damn trigger, but she didn’t want to. She was bluffing, and the Daleks couldn’t do a _thing_ about it. Martha had found a way out of this impossible thing. Rose couldn’t help but grin.

“She's good,” Rose said. 

Martha started. “Who's that?”

Rose couldn't keep her smile down. “My name's Rose. Rose Tyler.”

This time, unlike the countless times she’d introduced herself to strangers in parallel worlds, there was no polite “Nice to meet you,” or even “Why the hell do you expect me to care?” Instead, Martha’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped a little. “Oh, my God. He _found_ you.”

…

Jackie had taken to cataloguing what everyone was wearing. It looked like they’d gone to a secondhand shop and walked out with the first thing they saw. Sarah Jane in her petite polyester vest with a leather jacket on top? "Captain" Jack in his old war togs? They were almost as bad as Rose when she’d first started traveling with her Doctor. Time travelers. Went around the block once and fashion sense just flew out the window. Thought they knew everything, when in reality it looked like they’d forgotten how to look normal. Pain in the rear, it was, trying to get a new wardrobe for Rose after they’d…

She switched to guessing where they’d bought their ensemble pieces. It was that or go back to counting the number of times someone dropped a word that meant absolutely nothing to her.

Her own thoughts weren’t…useful right now. She was _not_ going to think about Rose unless it was to make sure this lot didn’t get too busy cracking inside jokes to actually finish…whatever it was they were working on. They were huddled around a contraption, if you could call it that. Looked like someone’d taken a file to a crown and pried out a gem before wiring it up like a science fair potato. But apparently it was their bargaining key and she was Not to touch it. Sarah Jane at least had had the decency to look embarrassed when Mickey instructed Jackie to take a step away from the highly-explosive-diamond-that-she-must-not-touch-because-it-might-just-go-off-the-rails. Jackie had rolled her eyes, but stepped back, and now she didn’t have anything to do, which was bad because her thoughts kept bouncing into a dark place, and damn it, she couldn’t think about that when Rose needed her. If Rose was even still—

Red really was Mickey’s color, wasn’t it? And to think, back when he and Rose were still dating he wouldn’t have gone anywhere past bland neutrals. Right now, they were working on wiring up a transmission of some sort. They needed to patch their way in somehow if they were going to bargain. No use wiring up a bomb without an audience, apparently.

“Ha!” Jack let out a whoop. He hugged Mickey jubilantly as Sarah Jane gave her own congratulations. Mickey turned and waved Jackie over, and she couldn’t help but smile. Weirdos, the lot of them, but they were endearing. In front of them, some sort of projection started to glow and she could make out a different room, similar to the one they’d just left, but much more like the tunnels with its low ceilings and lack of mysterious gizmos mounted everywhere like modern art.

“Captain Jack Harkness, calling all Dalek boys and girls.” Jackie could barely hold back giggles. Wasn’t his irreverence just _fitting_ in light of this madhouse? As he kept mouthing off and issuing their demands, Jackie searched the screen. Was she—

There. In the corner. Next to the Doctor. Rose was _alive_. She was alive! Surrounded by Daleks on all sides, but unharmed. And—

“Oh, my God,” Rose said, staring up at her. “That…that's my mum.” Jackie almost reached for her, never mind that projections didn’t allow for touch. That was her Rose, and she couldn’t even reach out and comfort her. She folded her arms instead and gave the on-screen Daleks her hardest stare. Jack and Sarah Jane were magnificent. They didn’t even seem phased as they gave their ultimatum.

“I'll do it. Don't imagine I wouldn't,” Jack finished, dangling the wired-up gem in front of the cobbled-together camera.

Rose, her beautiful daughter smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Now that's what I call a ransom.” Her voice came out all tinny, but she sounded so happy. Like things were almost normal. But Rose frowned and looked back over at the Doctor. “Doctor?”

He didn’t look...well. In fact, it looked like he was trying to pass a kidney stone. Stiff, frustrated, and trying to disguise his pain. As she watched, an old man who made Frankenstein look handsome zoomed towards Rose and the Doctor in some sort of Dalek-casing, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Jackie didn’t know what he did to throw his lot in with Daleks, but the feeling she got from him was just _wrong_. He was blustering on about some prophecy. As if. The only prophecies Jackie believed in were the self-fulfilling kind, but his words seemed to have an effect on the Doctor.

“But this is the truth, Doctor. You take ordinary people and you fashion them into weapons.” Rose’s hackles were rising, and the words she was obviously biting back were the kind that got her kicked out of class when she was younger.

Yet the man’s words weren’t untrue. She’d seen it in the way Rose couldn’t quite look her in the eyes on that fateful day when she’d reappeared after a year of absence _. Do it_ , she’d told the Doctor. Stop those murdering aliens, no matter if it killed her. 

“I made the Daleks, Doctor. You made this.” _MADE them?_ That was…Jackie blinked and filed that information away for later.

“They're just trying to help,” the Doctor said. He wasn’t looking anyone in the eye, not even Rose. It was almost as if he was ashamed, somehow.

“Just think. How many have died in your name?” the man asked, smiling ever wider. “The Doctor. The man who keeps running, never looking back because he dare not, out of shame.” Once, she would have even agreed with him. Yet despite everything that had happened…It just wasn’t fair, any of it. He deserved more than that. The Doctor was still staring at some distant point on the ground. He swallowed. “This is my final victory, Doctor. I have shown you _yourself_.” He was—the Doctor was fighting back tears.

“TRANSMAT ENGAGED.” What? No—

But before she could even try running, Jackie’s legs had gone boneless and she felt like her body was dissolving into a swarm of bees. Something clattered to the ground. _BLOODY teleport_ —

And suddenly, everything swam into focus. They’d gone through the looking glass. Daleks. Everywhere—Daleks—and she was on the ground—

Jackie scrambled to her feet, but before she and Mickey had taken a few steps, the Doctor cut them off.

“Don't move, all of you,” he said urgently. “Stay still.” He reached out and a column of blue light rippled away from his hand, surrounding Rose and him. Jackie skidded to a stop. From the way he winced as he pulled his hand back, Jackie quickly decided she wasn’t going to try the limits herself. So they were in a forcefield now, were they?

“Guard them! On your knees, all of you. Surrender!” Like hell she would—

“Do as he says!” Jackie took one look at the look in the Doctor’s eyes and immediately dropped to her knees, bringing her hands behind her head. Mickey, Sarah Jane, and Jack followed suit. Jackie did not look at the Daleks, and she pointedly did not look at the gloating man. She kept her eyes on Rose.

“Mum, I told you not to.” She sounded upset but unsurprised. _Oh, Rose, do you think I could leave you all alone out here?_

“Yeah, but I couldn't leave you.”

“The final prophecy is in place.” The man waved his arms like he was conducting a symphony. “The Doctor and his children, all gathered as witnesses. Supreme Dalek, the time has come. Now, detonate the Reality bomb.” _What is that, is it some sort of—what they did earlier, they aren’t going to—_

A Dalek voice rang out over the loudspeaker. “ACTIVATE PLANETARY ALIGNMENT FIELD. UNIVERSAL REALITY DETONATION IN TWO HUNDRED RELS.” _What—no no no no. The woman who dissolved...that—they were going to do it **everywhere**? The stars…_

 _“_ You can't, Davros!” the Doctor cried. “Just listen to me! _Just **stop**!_”

Davros only laughed. He was well and truly insane. _And he’s taking us down with him_.

…

It’s funny—he can feel the seconds ticking by. Oozing by, more like it. They’re taking far longer than they should and it makes him cross. Hell of a time for his time sense to kick in. He realizes he can’t quite feel his fingers, so he looks at his hands. White-knuckled fingers clutch the catalyzer, the precious, horrific catalyzer.

He’s not going to lose it this time. Donna’s beside him, and he’s finally realized that she’s wrong, wrong, wrong. She shouldn’t be next to him, not like this. He’s already lost her so many times he can’t even keep track—when the cable snapped as Ms. Foster looked coolly on, when she tripped inside Vesuvius, when he was too thick to realize the shadows could bite. Rationally, some part of him recognizes some of those memories must be past possibilities on this timeline rather than present realities (otherwise, it makes no sense that Donna died no less than five different times in the Library), but he’s seen her die of a stroke as the Master tried to change her genetic makeup and he’s watched her die as he waits too long to seal off her memories, and at this point, he doesn’t know at where inside the nightmare loop he’s standing.

He will lose Donna, because she, just like everything, everyone—she's sand in his hands. They just slip through the cracks. Impossible to cling to, let alone build with. Build a man out of sand and he’ll disintegrate at a breath’s passing.

No, that’s wrong. Things do stick together, long enough to give him hope. Snow, then. Water and those indistinguishably unique little snowflakes mashed together into crude lumps and set to melt under the burning sun. Can’t stop water. Always dripping towards entropy.

That makes things simple, actually.

When he loses Donna (this much is inevitable), he must keep the catalyzer. If he lets go…if he lets go…

Nope. Nooooo use _what_ soever fussing about trying to change fate. He’s got a few throbbing memories with Wilf in the radiation chamber and Adelaide on the snowy street and Donna within Vesuvius itself to remind him it’s useless to think he’s actually got a choice. So, the task at hand is straightforward. Land and leave. Use the catalyzer before Davros knows what hits him. Shoot him. Kill his progeny. Dissolve them all.

He can do it. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again. And Daleks will survive anyways and Davros will come back anyways and they’ll be locked in this danse macabre until the day he’s finally too slow.

But for now…he looks over at Donna and she’s got this _look_ , a look he’d forgotten a person could make. There’s a sort of guilty, ridiculous grin creeping across her face and she’s leaning forward on her toes, ready to spring. She’s afraid, yeah, but she also looks _thrilled_.

Today alone (he now knows the shape of today), they’ve cheated death _twice_ between the both of them. Now _they’re_ the charging cavalry. His heart starts to race. Donna’s exhilaration is contagious.

That’s just it, isn’t it? Save the world, lose the world; it’s all an illusion—none of it ever actually lasts, so why not enjoy this happy dream for the time being?

He gets another chance, this time. A few more moments, a few more memories to make this cycle a little more bearable until the next time. And he’s committed himself faster than ever. If he’s _just_ fast enough—

Well, Rose is out there, isn’t she? Here he is, stealing a few moments more.

He doesn’t look across the console. The Rose hallucination will still be there, and she’s _not_ the way things turn out.

A resounding peal. The materialization sequence is complete. He looks over at Donna and grins back wildly. He puts a finger to his lips and puts on a stage whisper.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

…

That sound—Rose couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

The TARDIS was coming. Her heart quickened. As her blood roared in her ears, it almost sounded like more than one heart was beating away, as if she and the Doctor were conjoined at the hands and sharing heartbeats. The TARDIS. She survived. And that meant Donna, Donna, she must have—

The door opened up and revealed not one, but _two_ figures silhouetted against a wall of gold.

A wave of déjà vu hit Rose. The comforting sense of _familiarity_ almost made her giddy with anticipation. It was better than Christmas early. It was almost like—she was dreaming, she had to be— Unconsciously, Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand harder.

“But that’s…” he said, trailing off.

“Impossible!” Davros growled.

In the doorway—Donna was there. And next to her, holding a gun half as large as he was…

Rose whipped her head sideways to look at _her_ Doctor, the one holding her hand, and snapped her gaze back at the man in the doorway. He was—

The man with the gun could have been her Doctor’s twin.

…

Jackie had never thought in a _million_ years she’d be happy to hear that awful old wheezing, not when Rose was beside her, anyway, but now…

It was maybe the best sound she’d ever heard. Someone was coming to save them. Despite every time she’d thought Rose daft, all waxing poetic about "fighting for lost causes," Jackie had to admit her opinion was completely different when _she_ was the lost cause being rescued.

“Brilliant,” Jack breathed beside her. His eyes were shining—was that adoration?

The TARDIS materialized and the door opened. Gold light streamed out, illuminating two figures. Like superheroes, they looked, all glowing and noble. Bless them, but it sure did her heart well to see their rescuers looking so grand. The man—for the love of all things holy, there were _two_ of them? The other Doctor was clutching some honking space gun, and just when she thought he was about to deliver a pompous “surrender and I’ll spare you speech,” he just _dashed_ out of the blinkin’ box!

…

As the door opens, the Doctor is ready. He isn’t going to be caught by surprise this time. 11 paces left and he’ll be there. Everything, everything is just like he remembered. They’re standing around and Jack is holding Martha and Sarah Jane and Mickey and Jackie Tyler are kneeling exposed. Rose’s jaw has fully dropped, for once, and his other self…well. His other self is naturally horrified. But he doesn’t have the _time_ to gratify him by pantomiming moral high ground.

8 paces left. Davros, he needs to focus on Davros. He can’t get distracted—if he misses this—it is, will be, was like Rose on the street with the Dalek, everything that matters interrupted because of his utter _carelessness_. There, he can see Davros, looking eternally, immortally wizened, and all that matters is closing the space between them before Davros can end everything and everyone so the Doctor will never be able to snatch a few last moments with these wonderful people he loves before they waltz out of his life again.

The catalyzer is cold and heavy underhand and primed to fire—just 5 steps closer and—

“Don’t!”

It’s only _one_ second of distraction, but he has to look, blast it all, he still _cares_ about them even if they’re already ghosts, and a shot of pain cramps through his muscles as everything

slows

down

his back arches, shoulders flung back, but all he sees is that gun, the Moment, the catalyzer

the catalyzer, he let it slip. It hasn’t hit the ground, it’s still tumbling in slow moments, each picosecond stretching out to nanoseconds, microseconds into milliseconds, and the light glints off the trigger he _failed to pull_ as it tilts just beyond his fingertips—he can see the imprint the gun left across his palms—but no matter how far he stretches, his ridiculously incompetent body cannot reach it even as time stretches longer just to mock him and the gun clatters to the floor 17 milliseconds before he does.

He realizes as his knees hit the floor that he’s forgotten this part.

In the throes of hope, he’s forgotten the feeling of TARDIS doors closing under his fingertips as the Master strands him at the end of the universe, the weight of his daughter’s corpse, the awful stillness as his oldest friend ceases to breathe in his arms.

He’s forgotten how it feels to cling to a magnaclamp for his life even as Rose, his dearest friend and reason for living, slips out of grasp and hurtles toward the void.

That’s part of the story. Forgetting. Thinking he can outrun misery if he just anticipates a handful of consequences in advance and ignores the rest. As he crumples to the ground and the pain sinks in, he can’t help but wonder if he’d be better off taking Cyber-Rose’s hand. He’s tired of feeling.

* * *

He doesn’t remember much of the rest. It fades in and out, interspersed with memories that haven’t happened yet, hallucinations, and possibilities.

Donna—she loops in and over time. He watches events unfold like an unstitched movie from the cutting room floor—replay, shoot from a different angle, switch up the main characters and shake up the dialogue with new actors. This time, Donna rushes from the TARDIS with the catalyzer, but she’s shot and it slides out of reach. Again, and he’s standing and holding Rose’s hand, watching the TARDIS materialize against hope all over again, except the doors open to two doomed mortals and no Bad Wolf. He watches the gun slide _towards_ him this time, but he’s trapped in a holding cell next to Rose and too resigned to use it.

In a moment of respite, he slips back into an ancient memory, bent over in radiation-induced agony before he knew what agony was, and Susan stands at the edge of the door of their cell, promising she’ll come back unscathed with the medicine they need. Then, she leaves, and he is alone with equally infirm companions in a Dalek fortress.

His companions almost seem meek. He remembers Jack shouting, but then Jack can get away with more than most. He dies how many times? The Doctor loses count. Martha and Sarah Jane are perpetual survivors, and it’s almost impossible to avoid their eyes. He can’t keep from cringing away frlm them. Bad Wolf appears again, and in her mercy, she is about to grant him final release when she burns up, leaving him alone. Jackie dies once, and Rose hits at him, sobbing and screaming obscenities, as she tries to break free and go to the body.

In none of the scenes do the Daleks ever fulfill their damn purpose and finally snuff him out.

When he thinks he can’t take it anymore, a new version of Donna appears, running back through the script and unwriting the catalyzer as a useless MacGuffin. Stupid, he was, to think a device would solve everything. But—now this is _new_ , she’s actually turning the tables back on the Daleks this time ‘round. Davros’ lightning fries his own arm for once, and neutralized Daleks flail now-inoperable weapons like beetles on their backs. It’s so completely unexpected that when his other self asks a question, the Doctor stops disassociating and rejoins the cast of actors.

“How did you work that out? You're—"

“Time Lord. Part Time Lord,” the Doctor answers.

Donna laughs. “Part human. Oh, yes. That was a two-way biological metacrisis. Half Doctor, half Donna.”

The Doctor is having trouble following her words as she gestures towards his double, when he registers that she’s talking to him as well.

“…deactivated. And seal the Vault.” She waves an arm at him. “Well, don't just stand there, you skinny boys in suits. Get to work.” The Doctor blinks. The holding cell…it’s no longer there. He seizes his chance and immediately darts towards Donna. She’s standing in the midst of ropy cables like some mechanical jungle.

Donna blocks out some ridiculous protest from Davros like a bouncer at a bar. Daleks are spinning around like cats in teacups. It’s all so ridiculous, he can’t do anything but gawk and hold back a giggle. _How…on **Earth**_ — _?_ The absurdity of this thriller-turned-comedy is enough shake him out of his daze.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Trip switch circuit-breaker in the psychokinetic threshold manipulator,” Donna says, the words tripping lightly off of her tongue.

“But that's brilliant!”

“Why did we never think of that?” his counterpart asks him. _Someone’s_ more friendly with his double than normal, but the solidarity is…nice.

“Because you two were _just_ Time Lords, you dumbos, lacking that little bit of human,” she says, making a pinching gesture. “That gut instinct that comes hand in hand with Planet Earth. I can think of ideas you two couldn't dream of in a million years.” _She is. Utterly. Brilliant._ “Ah, the universe has been waiting for me. Now, let's send that trip switch all over the ship. Did I ever tell you, best temp in Chiswick? Hundred words per minute.” Donna wiggles her fingers at him. _She’s bonkers!_ In so many years, he’s never really seen someone as wild as he is in the post-regeneration brain-scramble. She’s perfect! He practically buzzes with euphoria, and for the first time since he grew this new-old body, he laughs without a stitch of irony.

“Ha!”

…

As soon as she was free, Rose immediately ran over to her mum and wrapped an arm around her. Jackie was unusually quiet and hadn’t moved even when the holding cells were deactivated. Jack dashed into the TARDIS and returned with guns for himself and Mickey. As soon as Rose got over the shock of watching Doctor No. 2, Donna the newly super-genius, and Daleks acting like second-rate amusement park rides, adrenaline kicked in and she jumped into action with the others, pushing Daleks around with Sarah Jane like shopping carts (something she’d never in a million years have pictured herself doing).

“Good to see you again!” Sarah Jane yelled as they heaved a Dalek forward. Blimey, these things were heavier than they looked.

“Oh, you _too_!” Her grin felt wider than her face. As they sent the Dalek flying, it spun towards Jackie, who barely stepped out of the way. _That’s no good_. Something felt off, but now wasn’t the time to ask. She made a mental note. Getting Jackie to the Tardis would have to be another priority.

The Doctors (both in suits, one brown and one blue) and Donna were performing some kind of mechanical magic show. With the Daleks safely shoved in the dark corners of the room, Rose took a moment to just watch them fondly. Jackie hovered over her shoulder. The trio was simply fantastic together, all of them chattering away like schoolkids as they worked the console in front of them as easily as if it were the TARDIS. It was almost like it had been when it was Jack, the Doctor, and her traveling together. For once, the recollection was pain-free.

“We need more power!” her Doctor, the one in the brown suit, yelled over his shoulder.

Rose poked her head over. “Is anyone going to tell us what's going on?” she said, smiling.

“ _He_ poured all his regeneration energy into his spare hand, I touched the hand, and he grew out of that bit that fed back into me!” Donna said, pointing at each of them in turn and breezing through the introduction. “But, it just stayed dormant in my head till the synapses got that little extra spark, kicking them into life. Thank you, Davros!” she said with the flick of a switch. She leaned on the console and looked over her shoulder at Rose. “Part human, part Time Lord. And I got the best bit of the Doctor.” Donna’s Doctor, the new one in blue, grinned in a way that was almost foxy. He looked extremely pleased with himself. “I got his mind.”

“So there's three of you?” Sarah Jane said from behind Rose.

“Three Doctors?” Rose said wryly. _Honestly, at this point nothing should come as a surprise anymore_.

“I can't tell you what I'm thinking right now,” Jack said, and Rose bit back a laugh. Oh, this was _exactly_ like old times. _Some things never change_. 

…

Jackie stood with the others around the Doctors as they messed around with their gizmos. Not too far off, Mickey brandished a gun at Davros. Mickey was downright intimidating in the dim, blue and red lights. Davros let out a horrible bellow.

“You betrayed the Daleks!” Jackie jumped A weird giggle was issuing out of a different alcove. She glanced around until she spotted the source of the sound. There, in an open casing and illuminated by white spotlight, was this awful squid-brain _thing_ with an eye. Rose had described Daleks before, but _seeing_ one was another matter altogether. Was _that_ really what the things looked like? She had pictured something less…diseased looking. 

“I SAW the Daleks. What we have done, throughout TIME AND SPACE, I _saw_ the TRUTH OF US, Creator, and I DECREED, _NO MORE!_ ”

Without knowing why, Jackie felt a shiver run down her spine. Then, out of nowhere, a red Dalek descended from the ceiling.

“ _Heads up!_ ” Jack shouted, racking his gun and pointing it at the Dalek. The damn thing didn’t react in the slightest.

“THE VAULT WILL BE PURGED. YOU WILL ALL BE EXTERMINATED.” Quick as a breath, the Dalek aimed towards the control panel in front of them where the Doctors were working. Jackie flinched as the whole thing exploded in sparks. The brown-suited Doctor fell away from it and hit the ground hard.

“Like I was saying, _feel this!_ ” Jack yelled and promptly shot the Dalek. The Doctor pushed himself off the ground. _So he wasn’t shot_ …

Something wasn’t right. The Doctors were flapping around, yelling, and flames were shooting up out of the damaged console. This was bad. Very bad.

…

“Oh, we've lost the magnetron,” his double says. “And there's only one planet left. Oh, guess which one. But we can use the TARDIS.” With that, he sprints away towards her doors, leaving the Doctor alone with Donna at the console.

_No, no, no, no._ One magnetron down, and counting. He had to keep up steady gravitation—one slipup and tidal waves would spell the end for most major cities. The Earth, they _had_ to get Earth back where it belonged. With no Crucible to hold the atmospheric shell—Woman Wept all over again, except this time there would be continents full of flash-frozen corpses. _Time, time, time, we’re running out of time_. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach. His heart is flopping up against his ribcage like a beached fish, and the hole where his other one should be is driving him mad, but he can’t reach up to rub it because he _can’t_ let go of the console, **_can’t_** _let this fall apart_ —

“The prophecy must be complete.” Dalek Caan’s warble is insidiously soft.

“Don't listen to him,” Davros snaps. The Doctor stands very still. A voice has started keening in his mind. It sounds like his own. It’s hammering at every corner of his mind, desperation echoing until it fills everything up. _Close the loop, close the loop, close the loop DO IT CLOSE THE LOOP YOU HAVE TO **DO IT**_ —

“I have _seen_ the end of everything DALEK, and _you_ must _make_ it happen, Doctor.”

It clicks.

“He's right,” he utters, almost to himself. “Because with or without a Reality bomb, this Dalek Empire's big enough to slaughter the cosmos. They've got to be stopped.”

Donna’s standing next to him, hands resting on the controls alongside his. She’s not moving either. For a moment, he’s back in Vesuvius with her, but this time he’s not yelling and she’s not crying. They’re just standing there together, older and wiser, and they know what’s happening next.

“Just—” she says, and it sounds like _please_. “—just wait for the Doctor.”

She’s still in denial.

“I _am_ the Doctor,” he says bluntly. Holding gravity steady with his knee, he reaches for the switch that will finish what the catalyzer was meant to start. “Maximizing Dalekanium power feeds,” he says, sealing the fate of the Daleks. “Blasting them _back!_ ” he snarls.

It’s complete.

As Daleks begin to explode around them, the other Doctor rushes out of the TARDIS, wearing a look that can only be described as betrayal.

“ _What have you done?_ ”

As if there was any other option.

“Fulfilling the prophecy,” he says calmly, holding the other man’s gaze.

“Do you know what you've _done?_ ” his counterpart bellows.

 _Spared **you** from getting your hands dirty a little while longer_. He refuses to look away. His younger self makes a disgusted noise and turns towards the humans.

“Now get in the Tardis! Everyone!” he says, beckoning at them. They don’t start moving at first. “All of you, inside! Run!” The Doctor hears something behind him explode, and sets an example by leading the way in, holding the door and naming them one by one as each beautiful face rushes in to safety against all odds. 

They’ve done it. He’s done it, _he’s done it!_ He can’t believe it. 

They’re all, every single one of them, alive and there’s _nothing_ left to hurt them.

* * *

While we were fearing it, it came—  
But came with less of fear  
Because that fearing it so long  
Had almost made it fair—

There is a Fitting—a Dismay—  
A Fitting—a Despair  
’Tis harder knowing it is Due  
Than knowing it is Here.

They Trying on the Utmost  
The Morning it is new  
Is Terribler than wearing it  
A whole existence through.

Emily Dickinson

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm concerned about violating copyright and AO3's TOS with some of the poems I've included, and have thus altered or removed certain poems accordingly. Just heads up. Titles and poets are still listed. 
> 
> I am home for the holidays, and will be updating more regularly from here on out! Thanks for being patient with me as I've gotten through school and exams. Next chapter is written up, but I didn't want to post it with this one so I can build up a buffer. I've started plotting out the next installment, and I'm excited! 
> 
> We've waded through a whole lot of peril. As we creep to the end, I wanted to say it's almost over, and we'll be dealing with the aftermath soon. I'd love to hear what you think of this.


	16. To my doubt can I appeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martha is in this one.

* * *

…he _did_ it. Rose watched the Doctor exchange looks with Donna and purposefully pull the trigger. Daleks began to explode around them. _He killed them_.

And she didn’t feel indignant, or angry, or disillusioned. She just felt a sort of…relieved. It was over. _He did what he had to do._

He’d done what _she’d_ done.

Rose ducked, shielding herself and her mum instinctively as sparks flew everywhere. As if on cue, her Doctor came out in a panic.

“ _What have you done?_ ” he bawled at his double, wild-eyed. He was angry? _But he just_ …

No time to think, the temperature was rising by the second and shrapnel kept flying dangerously close to her face.

The Doctor in brown started yelling. “Now get in the Tardis! Everyone! All of you, inside! Run!” He waved them towards the TARDIS. The other Doctor ran for the TARDIS entrance. Rose took hold of Jackie’s arm and helped her up. She was surprisingly pliant. Wrapping an arm around her mum’s shoulders, Rose ran towards the TARDIS. The Doctor was waiting on the landing for them, holding the door and looking downright exultant. He beamed at her as she entered the door, and she couldn’t help grinning back. A little warm glow kindled inside of her, and she couldn’t completely bite back her smile despite the frantic rush inward. Jackie split off at the gangway, and Rose hurried towards the console. Right after she made it, the Doctor shot over and pulled down a lever on her left, holding it steady. She looked him over. He looked like he’d gotten dressed in a hurry—just a t-shirt under the blue suit.

Blasts echoed through the doorway. She looked back at the door as the original Doctor dashed in and made straight for the monitor. He shoved in on her other side and didn’t bother putting in a destination, just yanked them back into space with a yell. He’d showed her how to do that, in an emergency. Outside, an explosion rumbled.

 _So it’s done, then_. The sound of the dematerialization sequence was still grinding away.

Still bent over the monitor, the Doctor frowned. His eyebrows were so furrowed they’d joined together. From across them, Sarah Jane raised her voice.

“But what about the Earth? It's stuck in the wrong part of space!” Despite that little hitch, Rose was relieved. _The worst is over!_

“I'm on it!” he yelled with a flourish.

With that, the Doctor connected them with Torchwood. Gwen Cooper answered. It was _so_ good to see her alive again. The last Rose had heard, Gwen went up with everyone else to stop the Sontaran invasion in other-Donna’s reality. The Doctor interrupted the seemingly delicate operation with a question.

“Tell me, Gwen Cooper, are you from an old Cardiff family?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Gwen looked mildly perplexed. “Yes, all the way back to the eighteen-hundreds.”

He grinned. “Ah, thought so. Spatial genetic multiplicity,” he said, shooting Rose a knowing look and bumping her with his hip.

“Oh, yeah,” she said as he did, as if it was completely apparent now, their little secret. She grinned back as if this was all old hat. Jumping back into their old rhythm was the easiest thing she’d done in years. 

“Yeah, it's a funny old world,” he said, and shot back off. He rattled off instructions to the Torchwood hub and Sarah Jane’s computer, amplifying the power and sending out base codes.

“Now then, you lot,” he said, pushing off the console and running around. “Sarah, hold that down,” he said, pointing. “Mickey, you hold that,” he directed.

The Doctor scooted back around. “Because you know why this Tardis always is always rattling about the place?” He leaned close and reached right across her. “Rose? That, there.” She followed his hand. Oh. Rose found herself leaning up against the _other_ Doctor. His grin as wide as the one she’d seen him wear so long ago in the Blitz. But this time, his smile was all hers. Her heart flipped over.

“It's designed to have six pilots, and I have to do it single handed.” The brown one kept making his rounds. “Martha, keep that level. But not anymore,” he said, touching her shoulder. “Jack, there you go. Steady that. Now we can fly this thing…” He reached her mum and opened his mouth before closing it rapidly. “No, Jackie. No, no. Not you.” He gently put a hand on her arm. “Don't touch anything. Just stand back.” He continued on. Jackie looked rather resigned and stood back as Mickey sent her a commiserating look. 

The Doctor paused for a moment and looked them over. “…Like it's meant to be flown!” he exclaimed. “We've got the Torchwood Rift looped around the Tardis by Mister Smith, and we're going to fly Planet Earth back home.” He ran back to Rose and the Doctor. “Right then. Off we go,” he said with a bounce of the head.

“Ha!”

“Yes!”

“Took you long enough!”

Everyone started talking and babbling over each other at once. Jack crowed, and Sarah Jane had one of the biggest smiles Rose had ever seen. Both Doctors looked utterly delighted. _We did it!_ There were enough people around the console to make driving feel a little like playing Twister, but somehow, it didn’t feel crowded. Rose glanced at the monitor. She could see the earth in tow behind them. It must have been a simulation—the earth should have looked far bigger—but it was still ridiculously heartwarming. That little blue-and green ball still in one piece, bobbing along behind them—just where it should be.

“Aaaaand there we are!” Rose looked to the right. The Doctor leaned back and spun the monitor towards her. “See? All good! You lot can take your hands off, now, we’re good!” Everyone broke apart and started hugging. Rose found herself swept up in a group hug between Jack, Martha, and Sarah Jane, and Mickey had turned around to hug Jackie. When she extricated herself from their midst, she turned back towards the Doctors, who wore identical dopey grins. It was…really weird, actually. Adorable, but strange. It had been a long time since she was taken aback by something new. She made a mental note to ask a few more questions later to find out how it worked— _did they have the same memories?_ _What about their lifespan?_ _Would it happen again?_ Instead, she settled for a more basic question.

“We’re still in space?” Rose asked.

“Course we are, where else d’you put a planet?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I mean—are we back? You know, in the solar system?”

The other Doctor answered. “Nah, still got a ways to go.” She raised her eyebrows. “So how long’s that gonna take?”

“Who knows?” Both Doctors answered at the same time.

Blue on the left continued, “We’ve got no sun to count the hours, so it will take—”

“Just as long as we need to,” brown on the right finished.

Blue continued. “Since we’re outside the vortex, this will take a _smidge_ longer than travelling normally does. Well, I say a smidge. Little longer than that. More like a jiffy. Did you know that’s an American baked goods brand? First baking mix in the United States, mid twentieth century, about 1930, give or take—never been to the factory myself, just snuck a few from an oven once. Downright brilliant, you just mix in your oil and eggs and what have you and before you know it you’ve got your own batch of muffins right out of the oven! Smells amazing.”

The one in brown on her right continued. “Anyways, what we’re trying to get at is it’ll take us a _smidge_ longer, but we’ll be back in a jiffy, that is to say, about the time it’d take us to make a few batches of muffins.” He smiled. His tongue was poking back behind his teeth. _Thinks he’s so clever, and he still hasn’t given me a complete answer_. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“So around an hour?” Rose prompted, leaning in and raising her eyebrows.

“Give or take a few batches,” the one in blue finished. She turned and shared the smile with him.

“Well then, looks like I have time to meet the neighbors!” The Doctor in brown offered his elbow and she took it. She smiled up at him again. _Oh, you have no **idea** how I’ve missed you._ He was about to turn when Rose paused and turned towards the other Doctor. He looked slightly crestfallen. _Do you think I’d forget about you, you big lump?_ She offered her other arm to him. He perked up and they strolled off together to join the celebrations.

…

“And then—” he says, eyes thrown wide as he could manage. “He actually _steps_ on a butterfly! Now, I maaaay be one to meddle with history, just a bit, but not everyone’s cut out for it, and you see, he just about passed out when he realized. Can you imagine? There he was, insisting he’d done absolutely _nothing_ wrong, then just looks at his shoe and passes out! I was about to tell him—”

“Come on, Doc, you’re having one on me. That’s just the plot of _A Sound of Thunder_!” Jack interrupted.

“No it’s not, saw it happen with my own two eyes!” This banter, here, in the TARDIS—it feels _right_. Like he’s finally woken up from a nightmare. Not only is the universe off his back for once, but he’s everyone he cares about has survived alongside him. It’s the ultimate high. 

“No way! I’ll buy the bit about Roald Dahl, but now you’re ripping off Ray Bradbury too? You can’t just say _every_ sci-fi author out there got it all from you. Hunting dinosaurs?”

“Well, he did! Honestly, great big—”

“Next you’ll be telling me Hamlet’s modeled off of you.” Jack adds.

“Nah, that’s too tame.” Martha says. No, not _Martha_ , too? For Jack banter is practically its own language, and Mickey never leave a shot at him untaken, but now Martha! _Low blow_. “No, he shows up and what happens? Shakespeare writes a whole play while we were there. Not a normal play, either, one with ghosts murder and whatnot. No, he was possessed, and the actors start summoning aliens from another dimension! Get this: _we had to scrap the whole thing_. Love’s Labor Won, sent right to the wind. Lost forever.”

“So first he claims the time-travel dinosaur story actually happens, but of course he fixed everything so it never happens, and now we’re never going to read about this play he’s supposedly inspired?” Mickey asks.

“Yeah, Doc, you keep talking up the stories, but you never show us the goods.” Jack winks suggestively. Someone on the viewscreen groans.

“Come to think of it, Dickens never did add in our bit of the story either, didn’t he?” Rose asks, raising a teasing eyebrow at him.

“Oh, now you’re at me too? Listen, you scoundrels, none of you would have even _seen_ anything if I hadn’t been around to take you. How do you know I didn’t save history from being skewed by a butterfly?” With everyone beside him, what’s to say he _can’t?_ He’s snatched them all from the jaws of death once more.

“Because you would have bragged about it before now.” Mickey says, folding his arms but smiling.

“That’s not—”

“Proof!” Gwen demands from the viewscreen.

“Besides, did you even recognize Ray Bradbury before I said the name?” Jack asks.

“That’s—that’s beside the point.”

“Ha!” Mickey gloats. “One of earth’s best sci-fi writers, and he doesn’t even know him. Probably ‘cos he’s not British.”

“I _do_ know him, I’ve just got a lot of stuff crammed up in here!” He seized a fistful of hair and turned on the spot, trying to dig up the roots of that memory. “Give a man a moment to think.” _There—got it_.

Oh. It _was_ a just story. He’d been thinking about it earlier, when—well. When he was _born,_ he supposes. Feels like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t really met the author—or was the memory just a possibility? Because he’d been planning to take Martha to meet the man, but—right. That was before Jack sent them spinning to the end of time. Before the Master. He couldn’t— ** _No_** _. That was **different**_ **.** “Besides, why spend time on dystopias? Got too much of that rubbish in my life already, I'd rather focus on changing the ending, wouldn’t you?”

As if on cue, someone else joins the knot of people. His double. A knot of discomfort tightens in his chest, but he grins notwithstanding. In spite of his widening smile, or perhaps because of it, the man looks stiff and ill at ease. _And what’s that to me, now?_ The Doctor reaches over and grabs Rose’s hand before launching into a list of the places he’d seen and why it’s so easy to confuse them all. Rose’s hand is harder than he remembers. More calloused. It bothers him more than it should, remembering the years in-between. He compensates with an ever-wider grin. Felspoon, have they heard, and the second moon of Salxtri-1?

“While we’re on moons, how about Poosh? And a trip ‘round the asteroid belts of Thriskkylt, and Sevenrel. We’ll be back before you even knew we were gone, and then we can pop back in time to see their grandfathers?” He looks at Rose and finds her smiling back at him.

His second-chance girl. Looking at her is blinding. She _beat_ the odds and found him again. All he can think about now is the shape of her smile and the feel of her warm, tough hand in his. Nevermind the goodbye in the snow, all he could care about is here and now, and she is with him.

He can’t stop himself from boasting, never mind he hasn’t got the accuracy to land in half of these places anymore. Not with his already poor driving skills, and the TARDIS as roughed-up as she is. “Orrrrr, we could take a dip under the pools of Umbalta, near the seventh peninsula of Gloon? See the pearled arches, what do you say?” Words and places tumble out of his mouth.

“Anywhere, I can find and take you anywhere, just you watch. Just say the word, and we’re there. Save the doomed crusade of Alamush? Or how about re-writing the tragedy of Corlo? What’d you say, think we should shake some history up? ” He's always considered those out-of-reach before now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his double looking crosser by the minute. The Doctor grins even brighter just to spite him. The other man’s pretending not to notice him, but he can tell he’s been looking him over since before he walks over. The thing in his chest is expanding, making it even harder to breathe, but he pays it no mind. He has _just_ as much right to be here as the Time Lord examining him.

And who’s _he_ to judge, anyways?

When Jack interrupts him with a cautionary tale about mistaken destinations, weevils, and one misplaced pterodactyl, the Doctor’s right there waiting to outdo him. With a smile that would put a Carnevale mask to shame, he plunges into a new lecture on the wide corners of the universe. He can do this all day. _For years!_ No matter who’s watching. 

…

It was all a bit much. Jackie had never felt at ease in the TARDIS—the unexpected size still bothered her, and Rose had made the mistake of telling her it was _alive_. Just what she needed, the alien space box could read her thoughts and move the rooms around at leisure. She shuddered.

She’d chatted with Sarah Jane for a while. That had been a good puzzle, a real headscratcher. She’d asked all sorts of questions, and they'd hit it off immediately. Even if the woman’s life was significantly weirder than Jackie’s, they had a lot in common, especially when it came to raising a child alone. Jackie couldn’t count the number of times she had no idea what to do with Rose, and Sarah Jane felt the same way. Still, the conversation had lulled, and Sarah Jane had started chattering away with someone else. For little while, it had been easy to forget that Sarah Jane had some of the wildest experiences of them all, but when it came down to it, anything Rose or Martha or Mickey or Donna could say, Sarah Jane could match. Time of her life, she was having.

Jackie hung around the group that was talking the loudest, but once again, she didn’t have anything to say.

“Mum?” Jackie looked up. Rose was walking over. She’d left the Doctors (two of them!) with Donna.

“There you are. Had your fill?” Jackie asked.

“You got me there, I’m knackered. Care to take a load off?” Rose gestured over at the jumpseats with a nod of her head.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Rose reached over led her off by the hand. They sat down. For a while, neither said a word.

“You okay?” Rose asked, looking sideways at Jackie.

“I’m fine,” she answered breezily, but didn’t let go of her hand.

“You sure, nothing hurting, or…?”

“No, love. Be fine in a bit, just need a bit of a breather after all that. Mad, you are—your life always like this?”

Rose smiled. “No, this’s just the exciting bits.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. “Exciting, my arse.” Rose reached over and gave her mum a sideways hug. She didn’t try and say anything else. _This is…nice._ For all the time they spent together, Jackie rarely just sat with her daughter. There was always something to fill the space between them, and Jackie wasn’t the “at loss-for-words” type. After a few minutes passed, Rose broke the silence.

“’S neat, isn’t it? The TARDIS.” So Rose was getting a little bored. “Do you want the tour? I could show you around.”

Around? This alien _-living_ -time machine? No bloody thank you. “Not on your life. This is as far as I go,” Jackie said, raising her eyebrows.

“That’s fair. You know, we brought another human on board once. 2012, it was. He didn’t much like the TARDIS either.”

“Bloody right, he was. I tell you, you’re mad. Who else would like a box that can see inside your own head?”

Rose groaned good-naturedly and rolled her eyes. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“So you tell me, except then you go off about the time it hid the loo!”

“That was different, I swear—”

“You can swear high and low, but I’m keeping my rear firmly planted right here, you hear me? Go on, look around, talk to those friends of yours. No need to babysit me. Go on then,” she said, shooing Rose away.

Jackie watched Rose walk away. She felt like she could sleep for a week. It boggled her how only a few hours had passed, at most. Had it really been this morning that she’d hugged Tony goodbye? She sighed and sagged back into her chair. It was surprisingly comfortable. Awkwardly placed (who’d put seats all the way back here?), but comfortable, nonetheless. Since she didn’t feel much like joining in, she contented herself with people-watching. Mickey was going off on one of his stories. Jackie had definitely heard _that_ one more than once. Martha hadn’t, though, and he seemed pleased by her attention.

Suddenly she missed Pete. She wished she could lean into his warm shoulder. Maybe it was the difference in his upbringings, or maybe it was just the years in between, but he was quieter than the man she first married. She and him both, at times. And it wasn’t just the afflicted, long-suffering kind of quiet that made her want to stretch her story as long as she could, just to spite him. Lord knows she'd done that when she was young. No, this was a truly patient kind, like he didn’t mind listening, even if it was some stupid gossip she was repeating just because she wanted to tell someone. Other times, she’d be doing something simple like washing dishes, and she’d catch him leaning back from the computer and just looking at her like she was the best thing in the world.

Rose was looking at her Doctor just like that. Well, one of them anyways. (The new blue one, in this case, but the whole situation was just shady). But Jackie had seen _him_ give _her_ that look ages earlier. She’d seen him look at Rose like that when she was telling Mickey some outlandish story on the phone and butchering the names (which the Doctor had helpfully supplied) all the way back when he still spoke with a Manchester accent. It used to scare her, that alien staring at the daughter she’d raised. They were so unmatched. She didn’t want to see the ways they were suited. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly vulnerable, she almost gave ear to that shriveled part of her that whispered she was just trying to hold Rose back, keeping her like a plant without sun. _You want her stunted_ , it goaded.

But Jackie had seen Rose in crisis. She’d seen the way her daughter whistled in the dark, just like the Doctor did. She’d seen her laugh when she was running for her life! She’d seen her take charge, and keep on even when no one, not even her own mother listened to her. And she still _hoped_ for things to change.

Not such a mismatch anymore.

Of course, the species difference was still bizarre. Jackie decided not to think about that.

…

Maybe her mum did just need a bit of space and time to decompress. Truth be told, so did she. Rose stood up and walked up to one of the coral struts near the back of the console room. It was bathed in green-blue light from the console and warm yellow light from the roundels behind. She stroked the rough surface. It was warm to the touch. Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and just listened to the purr of the console. The TARDIS was finally alive! She’d been too focused on the Doctor earlier to really take it in.

She stood there for a while, basking in the glow of the roundels and watching everyone celebrate. Sarah Jane was on the phone with someone, probably her son. The Torchwood team had overstayed their original "get Earth home" welcome and were now using the TARDIS monitor to videochat. Right now, someone was loudly correcting one of Jack’s boasts, and he was doing his best to talk over them. Mickey was having a time—he was much less quiet than he used to be in company. Jack, despite his noisy protests, seemed to enjoy the banter even more than solo storytelling, and Mickey kept butting in to hear Ianto’s side of the story. Martha had left them and was on her mobile. She kept switching between reassuring the speaker or else holding her tongue and nodding for long periods of time. Family, then.

Donna and one of the Doctors were talking among themselves in quieter conversation (a first!) but every now and again a squawk made it clear that they were still teasing each other. Rose couldn’t help but smile. The Doctor in the blue suit had left them and drifted towards the Torchwood group. She watched them for a while, taking it all in. They were so happy to be together.

Everything seemed just right. Everyone was content and fit right in their slot. And here she was. Not unwanted, but a little bit out of place. She felt an old ache tug at her chest

They were all fantastic, truly. The Doctor chose his companions well. Earth’s best and brightest—the planet wouldn’t be here, if not for them. They were just as capable of saving the world as she was. But…the world was saved, now. And they all had someone they were going home to. Something to live for. They and would be able to sleep at night without wondering when it would all come crashing down.

 _Mum was right_.

She’d thought…just maybe, if she found a way to communicate, get on the right projects, jump between worlds, save the stars—if only she could, things would be better, somehow. She could go back to that better life. Go home. She thought about that nineteen-year-old girl who’d dropped everything so easily and ran. How she just thrived on this. Adventures and peril and saving the day, and how she thought it was the best thing ever. The only way to live. Suddenly Rose felt altogether out of place with the celebrating crew.

Because today Rose had helped save the goddammned multiverse and yet she felt utterly empty. She bit down and squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her head against the coral strut. Wasn’t this supposed to be home? Was this what home felt like, now? She wrapped an arm around herself.

She was about to open her eyes when an image unexpectedly flashed across her eyes, along with a warm, comforting sensation, like she’d swallowed a full mug of tea. _Was that you?_ she asked. Rose reached up and stroked the TARDIS’s coral. The image was of her old room. It felt less like a projected picture, and more like a memory—fuzzy around the edges, but familiar. _Show me the way?_ She felt an affirmative answer and ducked into the hall that led to through the rest of the maze.

It didn’t take long to find her room. It hadn’t moved much, though it was no longer across from the Doctor’s room. Her room had moved next to his, instead, so she could no longer see the Doctor’s room standing in her own doorway. Not that he was ever in his bedroom during their time together—he gave ordinary insomniacs a run for their money.

She lingered at her door. It felt like a ghost was waiting for her on the other side, and Rose wasn’t sure she was ready for her. With her hand on the handle, she rested her head against the door for a moment, then pulled back, still unable to bring herself to turn the handle. There was a hum of encouragement from the TARDIS, and before she could talk herself out of it again, Rose turned the handle and opened the door.

The bed was made. Neatly, or as neatly as the fluffy duvet would allow. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t left it that way, that was for certain. She looked up at the ceiling. The night lights were still there, tiny embedded lights that formed constellations in the dark. There were ordinary cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner of the room.

It was her old room, and yet it wasn’t. It was something in-between. Something half-way between the girl she was then and the woman she was now.

“What’s this, then?”

Rose jerked out of her reverie and smiled at the newcomer. Apparently, Martha had had her fill of the chatter in the console room.

“’S my old room.”

“It’s very…cozy.”

Rose snorted. “I know, right?” The walls were the same violent shade of pink as her teenage bedroom, though it was hard to see the paint through the jumble of photographs and posters tacked up. In many ways, it was like her old bedroom, back at their council flat. Unlike her old bedding, however, this duvet was cream and elegantly patterned in pink and gold. She walked over and sat down on the side of the bed. Martha followed her in, but lingered a few feet away.

“Cherry blossoms?” Martha asked.

“Yeah,” Rose said, rubbing at the embroidery. “Used to think it was the prettiest thing in the world. Nicest thing I’d ever had.” She traced the trunk of one of the trees. “Funny, actually—back in year eight I swore off florals _forever_.”

A grin crept across Martha’s face. “Too many roses?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You have no _idea_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone and their dog thought they were _so_ clever."

“I can imagine,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s nice enough if it’s someone you’re sweet on, but try it when your English teacher forces you to be bloody Juliet just so some swotty kid can monologue about you to the whole class—ugh.”

“ _No_.”

“Yeah! Told him to think of me an’ everything. I never heard the end of it. Skived off class a few times after just to avoid my classmates.”

“Embarrassing!”

“Tell me about it,” Rose said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs up onto the bed. Martha didn’t move. Sensing her hesitation, Rose patted the bed. “Wanna sit?”

Martha smiled. “Alright then.”

When Martha was situated cross-legged on the bed next to her, Rose tried breaking the ice. “When you traveled with the Doctor, who’d you meet?” Martha hesitated, so she continued. “Only I reckon, if it was up to him, we’d be nose deep in celebrities, but we always end up a few decades off and half a continent away.”

Martha relaxed. “We met Shakespeare, actually.”

“No!”

“Yeah!”

“Was he dead dull?”

“Far from it! Kept flouncing about like he was God’s gift to women. And men, actually.” Rose laughed and lay down on her side. “Gave the Doctor a run for his money, I’ll tell you.” Martha slowed down and paused, looking somewhat awkward.

“What, you and him accidentally get married or something?”

Martha burst out laughing. “Married? As if!” 

Rose grinned. “Probably for the best. I don’t think even 16th century folks’d look too kindly on secret wives.” Martha looked puzzled for a moment.

“What’d you mean?”

“You and Shakespeare.” Martha’s face cleared.

“Ha! Suppose you’re right. Course of true love never ran smooth and all that.” Martha lay down across the end of the bed and propped herself up on an elbow. “Not that I fancied him or anything—he was a bit of a looker, though. Terrible flirt, too.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“The worst! Called me a ‘delicious blackamoor lady’ and everything.”

Now it was Rose’s turn to laugh. “He said that? Ha! Not the smoothest thing to say, is it? I mean, I see why—you’re gorgeous.” She rolled over and collapsed on her back, looking up at the twinkling lights on the ceiling. “Still, Shakespeare himself fancied you? That’s one for the books. Wouldn’t have pegged him the type.”

“You have no idea.”

They sat there for moment, looking up at the stars. Rose rolled over and fixed the pillows behind her so she could sit up and lean back into them. She looked up again and lost herself in the stars. This was really nice, actually. It had been so long since she talked to someone like this for fun. _Most of them would think I'm a nutter_. She was still looking up when Martha broke the silence.

“Did you—” She hesitated. “When you and the Doctor…What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Rose drew a tight breath and hesitated before answering. Her gaze drifted to the boxes in the corner of the room. “Looks like I just moved out, doesn’t it?”

Martha didn’t answer. Rose threw her head back so all she could see were the stars. She didn’t look down as she started talking.

“Honestly, it was just like any other day. Only I thought I’d be with the Doctor forever—never once thought of leaving him. Got to think it would be like that forever. Him and me, saving the day.” She closed her eyes. “But then, just like that…it was all over.” She brought her head down and opened her eyes to find Martha still propped up on her elbow, looking back at her intently. “I guess you heard about Canary Wharf?”

A look of surprise crossed Martha’s face before her expression closed off. “Not something I could forget.” Something in her tone made Rose pause. She’d seen that look before. Jialing looked that way when Cybermen came up during void-crossing calculations.

“Did you lose someone?” Rose asked softly.

“Yeah.” Her expression closed off a little. “My cousin, Adeola.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martha pushed off the bed and sat up. “It’s not like we were that close,” she said, searching for words. “Just—she looked just like me. Everyone always said so. So people…” Her eyes roamed around the room. “My aunt mistook me for her, once. Just dropped what she was holding and rushed over. Squeezed me hard enough I thought my ribs would break…

“I’ll never get that out of my head, you know? She just _looked_ at me like I was a ghost come back again. And when she hugged me and realized? It was like—it was like I’d broken her heart all over again. Just by walking in to pick up a suitcase.” She laughed bitterly. “Stupid ghosts. Got everyone all moony-eyed then dragged everyone down with them.”

Martha shook her head. “I mean, I get it. I must sound so insensitive. She lost her daughter, after all. It’s just…living in someone else’s shadow—” She broke off. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask to hear all of this.”

“’S all right. I don’t mind, really. I figure you probably don’t get to let this stuff out to anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s about right. Still.” She uncrossed her legs and brought her knees to her chest. “I ask you about what happened and here I am going on about myself.”

“It’s really fine. I don’t—I don’t talk about it much.” Rose stood up and walked over to the boxes in the corner of the room. Some of them weren’t taped shut. It was clear that some of them had been carefully packaged away, while others had been hastily stuffed, as if the packer couldn’t finish the job fast enough. She ran her hands lightly across one of the boxes. _He must have…_

“I didn’t pack these, if you were wondering. This isn’t even—most of it looks like stuff from our flat. My mum and I’s.” She started rummaging in one of the top boxes and touched something unexpectedly warm. She picked it up.

It was made of bazoolium. Seeing the trinket somehow made the memories of that awful day fresh again. She picked it up and rolled it over in her fingers. “We’d just stopped home, the Doctor and me. Doing some laundry. It’s funny now…I know the TARDIS’s got her own laundry, but sometimes it just vanished. He was such a great sport about it. ‘Looks like we’re going to have to make the ol’ Jackie Tyler pit stop.’ He’d ask me how many loads I’d got, and how fast I could get it done, like it was such a chore. But he didn’t really hate my mum. Think he just got scared.” She stopped and looked at the light glinting off the bazoolium trinket. “He was right, I guess.” She looked over her shoulder at Martha. Martha had swung her legs over the edge of the bed and was leaning back on her hands. “Here, catch!”

Martha leaned forward and caught the trinket in her hands. “What’s this?”

“Made of bazoolium. Got it on an asteroid bazaar.”

“It’s hot!”

“Means the skies will be all clear.”

“What do you think that means, now? I mean, with the Earth…” Martha said. Rose pictured the earth trailing behind like an ocean liner behind a tugboat and laughed.

“You know, you’re right! Didn’t even think about that. Guess it means no plumbing disasters to make it rain in here?” She walked over and sat next to Martha. The woman was turning the trinket over in her hands.

“Gave it to my mum that day.” Martha looked over at her, unspoken questions written all over her face. Rose looked down.

“It’s—the short version’s that Torchwood—not the one Jack’s running now, but the old version. Well. They were looking for energy and brought over the ghosts. I reckon you’ve already heard that bit.”

Martha nodded. “The news said it was an experimental weapon. They made the Cybermen.”

“Halfway true, I guess. Except they didn’t really make the Cybermen, just brought them over. Did the Doctor ever talk to you about alternate realities?”

“Not really.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t. He never told me about them ‘til we’d fallen into one. Guess it brought back bad memories…

“Anyways, in another world some genius invented the Cybermen, and Torchwood found out they could generate energy and dragged ‘em through.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah. Except the problem is that they were breaking down the barriers between worlds. Torchwood didn’t start it, but turns out the Cybermen were following something else through. And that—that was Daleks.”

Martha was quiet for a moment. “I saw pictures. Satellite pictures of them in the skies. When I was at UNIT. I don’t think they really talked about it in the civilian world. Just Cybermen.”

“I guess they wouldn’t.” Rose paused. “You can’t beat something like that. When they’re swarming around.” The adrenaline rush of saving the world was wearing off, and she suddenly wanted to collapse in bed without turning on an alarm. _So much has changed._ “Didn’t even scare me back then. Thought I was— _we_ were invincible.” She sighed. “Stupid.” Something in her chest fluttered unexpectedly and she rubbed at the spot distractedly.

“Anyways,” she continued, “The Doctor stopped them in the end. Sent them into the void—it’s this kind of space between realities. Just opened a door and sucked ‘em in. But we were holding on to these levers to keep it open, and I slipped.”

“So all this time, you were in…”

“No, didn’t fall all the way in. My…father from the other world caught me, took me back. Only when I got there, found out the way home was closed.” She hated herself for the resentment in her voice. _You’d think I’d have gotten over this in how many years_. She was tired of this _weakness_. Martha was quiet as she finished. Rose knew she ought to say something, turn things back and change the subject, but she didn’t have the energy to really try.

“I used to think…The Doctor always talked about you like you were some sort of superhero, you know,” Martha said.

Rose chuckled weakly. “He would.”

“All that traveling and I never really found out what happened, you know? It’s kinda weird seeing you’re a real person. You’re like a celebrity,” Martha said jokingly. Rose smiled.

“Yeah, well here’s to keeping the paparazzi at bay, then.” They were silent again for a while.

“Martha?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Why?” Martha said, looking at her with amusement like she’d suggested wearing socks on her ears.

“For today—for…” She fiddled with her jacket zipper, then looked Martha straight in the eyes. “The Osterhagen key.”

Martha stiffened and looked down at her lap. “I’m not sorry I didn’t use it. But I would have.”

 _What…Oh._ “No, I mean—thank you. For being willing. That’s not…there’s no way that was easy. But you did it. Someone had to.” Martha looked up sharply and studied Rose’s face. Rose forced herself not to look away. “If I was—I want to believe things will end well. But they don’t, not always. I’ve seen…” She blinked and trailed off. Some things were best left buried. “Just—thank you. I know the Doctor was mad, but—it’s not always up to him. He’s not always here. Used to agree with him, but…”

“He’s not always around,” Martha said softly, but there was iron in her words. Rose looked up and an understanding passed between them. Somehow, her chest felt lighter after talking. It had been a very long time since she’d been able to share any of this with someone who _understood_. On a whim, she reached over and gave Martha a hug. Martha returned it, then looked down at the bazoolium she was holding. She reached over and offered it to Rose. 

“I’m starving, what about you?” Martha said. Rose took the trinket from her hand.

Come to think of it, she was _ravenous_.

“ _Ugh_ , you’re right. I haven’t eaten anything in ages.”

“What d’you say we head for the galley, see if the Doctor’s got anything other than tea biscuits?”

“Martha Jones, I like the way you think.”

Rose rolled off the bed and put her shoes back on. They stood up and started to head out. Before leaving, Rose set the bazoolium trinket down on her old nightstand. She tugged at the corners of the wrinkled bedcovers to leave them as tidy as they were when she came.

…

He’s absolutely fine until his companions start to leave.

For whatever reason, he can’t quite bring himself to follow them out of the TARDIS. Maybe, if he waits in here, he can pretend they’re just off to see a few friends, and will be back before he has another go at fixing the dimensional stabilizers.

Sarah Jane goes first, and he doesn’t want to say goodbye like this is the end. He hugs her instead and gives a little wave as she steps out with his doppelgänger. But then she walks out the door and out of sight. Bells toll outside, like cloister bells, funeral bells. It’s all been a pleasant dream until now, but he feels like he’s starting to wake up.

He clasps his arms behind his back, strolling around the room like everything is right with the world. Because it **_is_**. _Now’s probably a good time to inspect the temporal manifold—no, that would put me right in Jackie’s line of sight._ He starts to eye the doorway, but Mickey’s drifted over and is standing in front of it, blocking the way. The Doctor switches directions and reaches in his pocket for his—oh. Right. Doubled body, singular sonic. _Singular heart_. That lodges in his head and starts to tug at buried memories he’s not ready to recall. Only one. Only one. _Something’s wrong_.

In spite of himself, his breathing speeds up. He needs more air, more oxygen pumping through his blood. His heart beats faster, but it's no good. It's going to run itself to the ground. It’s deficient. He reaches under the coat and prods at his chest, feeling the slots between his ribs give slightly under the pressure. It’s still, too still. There’s not enough motion underhand. He keeps probing, pressing, searching for the edges of a hole he can _feel_ but not find. His fingers worry at his ribcage like a wolf after marrow. If he can just dig a little further, maybe he can pry it out of numbness again. His skin starts to throb, but he can’t stop himself. _It should be here, under the shirt and skin, there should be another heartbeat_ —

“You alright, spaceman?”

His head jerks up, and he pulls his hand back to fidget with his lapel instead. “Fine, me? This is me we’re talking about, never better!” He starts to whirl about again, one hand in his hair and the other wildly gesticulating. “Just peachy, peachy keen—oh, that doesn’t sound right, remind me not to say that again. In fact—”

Donna reaches out and catches his hands. “Hey.”

He’s panting slightly. He wants to look anywhere else, be anywhere but here—

“Give your hands a break, will you?” _What_ —

She looks at him with eyes far too knowing. “I’m going to hug you. That all right?” He gets out a halfway nod, then she drops his hands to wrap her arms around him. It takes him a few seconds to hug her back, but he’s glad when he does. For a moment, he closes his eyes and just focuses on feeling—the enveloping pressure of the hug, his feet on the ground, the ache in his chest, Donna’s coat under his hands. It feels nice. She doesn’t let go immediately, for which he’s grateful.

He opens his eyes and looks up at the TARDIS ceiling. The light is pulsing softly between the starburst of spokes coming out from the time rotor. The warm glow is comforting. It’s like staring at bright things through closed eyelids. The diffused golden light reminds him of the way light glows through the velvet membrane of bats’ wings. He remembers waiting for a surprise, someone else’s hands held over his eyes in the setting sun, the way the light peeked through. More dazzling than blinding. That was with Rose—she’s here, but no, she _was_ here, she had to have been here, where is she—

“Someone’s squirmy today.” Donna says, releasing him from the hug but keeping her hands on his arms. She looks back over him, assessing him. “You’re worrying me,” she said softly. “I know you’re about to do a runner, but remember to breath, alright?”

“Of course I will. How could I forget? I love breathing. Oxygen, nitrogen, smidgen of argon? Fabulous. The perfect cocktail. Not what I’m optimally evolved for, but I’m perfectly capable of the earth stuff. Have to keep my human companions alive and running, don’t I?” Donna rolls her eyes a little bit but releases him.

“I’m just saying. It’s work enough keeping one of you alive, but I’m not about to lose you on day one.” Her gaze softens. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

He smiled back. “What did I ever do without you, Donna Noble?”

“I’ve been asking myself the exact same question since I boarded your ruddy timeship and I still don’t have an answer.” She leans back against the railing—so he’d drifted over to the gangway, then. Huh. He hadn’t noticed. He winks at her as he strolls off casually. When he makes it through the door, his shoulders start to sag again and he slows down now that finally, no one is watching.

…

As soon as he stumbles into the closet, he shuts the door behind him without bothering to turn on the lights.

He just needs a minute. That’s all. He’s fine, honestly.

He sinks to the floor. With his knees to his chest like this, he can smell the smoke in his suit. The scent is everywhere, clinging to his hands and hair. His mind flashes back to the crucible, lying on the floor _anticipating_ , helpless—

He rolls onto his knees and retches. He dimly registers a bin in front of him. _Good ol’ TARDIS_. There’s nothing in his newborn stomach to give up, so after a minute of dry heaving he leans back and shuts his eyes. The skin around them is taut and stiff, and they sting. He sits still for just a minute. Only a few minutes, and he’ll be fine. He’s just waiting for the right time.

He’s almost convinced himself to leave when a crack of light splits the darkness. He doesn’t look up.

“Thought I’d find you here.” It’s him. His other self. He steps inside uninvited.

“Regeneration sickness, huh?” He must have spotted the bin. _Along with the general clumsiness and inability to stay on a topic for longer than half a minute._ “Can’t say I envy you.”

But there is bitterness in his voice.

When he doesn’t answer, the younger Doctor continues. “Not how we expected today would go.” The Doctor raises his eyebrows in rueful agreement, but remains silent. The younger man looks at his counterpart sitting curled up on the floor, but remains standing. He nudges the bin with his foot and looks down his nose at the Doctor. “I suppose you’re feeling pleased with yourself.”

Despite the venom in the other man’s voice, the Doctor remains silent. He’s not ready to think about what happened, not when Sarah Jane’s just left and the others are waiting their turns. He already misses her company.

The younger man’s gaze has sharpened. His nostrils flare in disgust. The Doctor doesn't know why, but it doesn't matter. They're both familiar with this loathing.

“You know I can’t—” the younger man growls and shoves a hand through his hair—“You know you can’t stay. You _know_ why.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. Apropos.

“You’re reckless. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You set everything on fire, you wouldn’t have even _turned back_ for Davros. You—” he seizes a fistful of hair. “I can’t leave you unchecked; can’t you _see_ that?” The Doctor doesn’t look up at him.

“And now I’m left to clean up your mess, while you—you—” The man cuts himself off and closes his eyes, sucking in an angry breath and letting it out through his nose. His voice is unusually snide. “I suppose you’re pleased about all of this.”

 _Pleased?_ With what? The inevitable farewells?

He doesn’t try to defend himself. Instead, the Doctor rests his head back against the wall and stares at a speck halfway up with his jaw clenched. He didn’t even poke his head out to wave Sarah Jane off, and now she’s gone. Kaput. Swallowed up by linear time. Where she’ll be happy. His younger self seems to see his guilt but makes no move to comfort him. He stares down at him with a look like revulsion bordering on grief.

“Don’t worry, you get your wish.” The animosity in his voice was unmistakable. “What other choice do you leave me?” he says as he turns away and closes the door.

If there’s one thing they both understand too well, it’s leaving.

* * *

" _...But no, the flames are there. I can't deny_  
 _the evidence presented to my eye._  
 _Only to my doubt can I appeal_  
 _for news of what is false and what is real._ "

Excerpt from [_On Reflection_](https://poets.org/poem/reflection)

Anne Stevenson 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Read the whole poem, it's a good one. 
> 
> Views expressed by characters do not represent the author’s view on life, shipping, product endorsement, or the nature of choice. Hope you liked this installment! It’s been a blast to finally write. I won’t lie, I’m more than a little pleased to be out of the show’s action and into introspective ramblings once more. I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> A little housekeeping: I'd prefer the last two chapters as one chapter, so after this is posted I'm going to combine them for a total of 17 chapters.


	17. What I was walling in or walling out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at a whopping 9.4k: the last chapter of this installment, folks!

* * *

Finishing his goodbyes is surreal.

The thought of Martha walking away had been enough to get him on his legs and out into the hallway, though he almost immediately staggered against the wall. His legs have not entirely remembered how to walk. Or learned how. Hard to tell in this body. But now that he’s here in the console room, he’s managed to school his features into a neutral polite expression. His mind’s been on the fritz and people he knows to be dead keep popping up in the corner of his vision. Seems like everything he touches triggers a memory, so he keeps his hands firmly in his pockets and his eyes towards the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Martha hugging Rose and tries not to think about it too much.

He looks away for a moment and sees his _other_ self. _He_ is also pointedly ignoring the scene next to him. The Doctor's nostrils flare.

This clinches it. He is no longer that man. He, both of them, owe this to Martha. He will give her a proper goodbye. Where’s the atonement in saving the universe if he can’t give her his _mea culpa?_ It’s far too easy to use those who love you.

The Doctor forces himself to look at her. She looks genuinely happy, unburdened somehow. For a moment he freezes. He has to tell her—but—

Well, what can he say?

He’s sorry?

She’s seen him say that to so many people.

The other option, “I understand,” is so wildly presumptuous he clams up at the mere thought.

The only thing he knows to do is hug her like he did when she left for good. He turns towards her, but before he can take a step, his double reaches her first, a wide grin pasted on his face.

“Martha Jones!” The other man embraces her. It’s a strange experience, watching himself hug her like he’s a bystander to his own body. Huh. He can’t remember the last time he was cloned, or if it even really happened. Martha seems unfazed. _Might have something to do with the Sontarans…._ Unbidden, a new memory springs forward. Martha, in a stinking cellar, cradling the corpse of her clone. She’d tried to ease its passing.

It. _Am I an ‘it’ now?_ He doesn’t feel like half the man he was. Rather, he feels overstuffed. Too many memories and possibilities stuffed in a too-small head and vying for the reigns. Almost seems like a cop-out to call himself an ‘it,’ like he’s best relieved of duty and dumped in an enclosure for his own good.

 _Her_ , Martha would probably insist. She’s good like that. And she deserves to know it. Even if she can’t—well, he couldn’t even begin to explain it all, but she deserves to know, at least, that he _is_ sorry and he thinks he understands why she did it.

She’s broken apart from his double. He’s struck by a sudden urgency. When the other man takes a step back, he takes his chance. Her eyes briefly widen as he hugs her—he’s startled her—but she’s quick to return the hug. Now is the time, when he can’t look at her in the eyes but knows she’s listening.

“If I don’t—I’m sorry,” he says into her neck. “I—he—we’ve no right. The key—” his voice drops to a whisper. “You didn’t really have a choice.” He swallows. “You’re brilliant, Martha Jones. And brave, and compassionate. Don’t let anything take that away.” She surprises him by squeezing him back, and they stand there for a minute together. She pulls back and gives him a long look. Apart from an overly long blink, he manages to keep from looking away. And then—she _grins_ at him. It’s so unexpected that he can’t help but reciprocate.

“Take care of yourself, mister,” Martha says, glancing between him and his double. He can’t keep back a snort of laughter at the absurdity of it all.

“I will,” he says, still chuckling good-naturedly and scratching at the back of his head. “I’ll sleep better at night knowing the Earth is in good hands.”

It’s her turn to snort. “Right, so I’ll be cleaning up your messes as usual, then.”

“Something like that, yeah. Sorry about that.”

“What else is new?” she says, her tone light. “And where are you off to?”

He glances ever-so-briefly at his double, currently at the console. “Oh, you know me. Here and there.” But because this is Martha, he pauses before letting the act drop a little. In a less bright voice he adds, “May not be around, much.” Comprehension dawns across her face and she looks at him again with that _look_ that only Martha gives, somewhere between pity and pain. She and steps closer for another hug. This time, he simply closes his eyes.

“I won’t forget you,” Martha says. She hugs him just a little longer and whispers, “Thank you.” He doesn’t correct her or say anymore. The few words they’ve exchanged have drained what little energy reserves he’s collected since he left the supply room, but he tries to give her a smile that tells her everything he’s tried to say: that he appreciates her, that he respects her, that he trusts her.

“Right! Earth, first decade twentieth century, I _think_ I got the year right and since all I hear are church bells, I think we’ve hit the right date for once.” His double has swung around and the Doctor steps back, nodding at the door.

“Goodbye, Martha Jones.” She smiles back at him, and walks out with his double, Jack and Mickey. With each person that leaves, a little more of his new-found invulnerability crumbles. Yet he keeps his stretched-wide smile even after they walk away. If he drops it, he might not get it back on. It’s been a while since he’s had companions watching him all the time. He’s out of practice.

…

Rose smiled as Mickey left the TARDIS after Jack and Martha. He was going to be brilliant. Having met the small, close-knit Torchwood group over video call, she knew he was going to love it here. He’d always hated the Torchwood bureaucracy back home, for good reason.

“You knew, then?” Jackie asked from the left side of the jumpseat. Rose’s heart froze up for a moment, but she answered truthfully.

“Yeah. Told me a few weeks back.” He was ready to move on. She envied that.

To her surprise, Jackie didn’t lash out, but just nodded her head.

“Figures.” She didn’t say much more, just looked over at Rose and reached out to brush the hair out of her eyes. Rose blinked. “What about you, love? You ready?”

Rose nodded but didn’t make eye contact.

“Oh, what am I doing? Here I go stirring the pot again. I’ll miss you, sweetheart.” She scooted off the seat and reached over to give Rose a hug. Rose stood up to hug her back. Jackie wrapped her arms around Rose.

Chills shot down her spine. Her mouth flooded with too much saliva, her stomach clenched, and she tried not to flinch.

_It_ was still there. She’d forgotten about the tracker in the adrenaline rush of the day, but Jackie had brushed up against it when she’d gone to hug her. There was still a _thing_ sewn under her skin. She could feel it.

She tried to shove back the memories. It was fine. _She_ was fine. They would get it out and she never had to see Torchwood again. She would never have to endure a single day more under their cold, unfeeling hands, and she would never have to do their dirty work again. She focused on breathing.

Thankfully, Jackie didn’t seem to have noticed her episode. Good. The last thing she needed was to burden Jackie with worry right before they lost contact for good. It wasn’t fair to her.

This would be one of the last chances she had to hug her mum. Rose squeezed her mum tight and breathed in her scent. She still smelled like the old perfume she’d worn when Rose was growing up. A hard-searched for gift from Pete.

Rose gritted her teeth to stop tears from escaping. Pesky thing, crying. Hard to stop once she'd started, and she’d already cried more today than the past few years combined. Instead, she distracted herself by focusing on un-locking her knees.

She had already said her proper goodbyes.

“So, mum, what are the odds Pete bought you peonies?”

…

Even with his blinkered senses, the Doctor can still tell when they’ve landed in the other world. Things feel skewed sideways, like his inner ear is spinning. There’s the thud of landing, even though they’ll have materialized on the sand. He’s not sure if this was _really_ the optimum place to land, or if he’s only chosen it to bring things full circle.

That imagery makes him uneasy. Because the beach feels uncomfortably close to home, he starts with the familiar. Moons of Jupiter should do the trick. _Metis, Adrastea, Amalthe, Thebe_. It’s been a long time since he resorted to mental recitation as a focus tool, but he’s been on edge practically every minute since he was born into this new-old body and he almost lost control saying goodbye to Martha. 

Now for the Galileans. _Io, Europa, Ganymede, Callisto_. He does not look at Rose and Jackie hugging. He looks down from the cool glow of the TARDIS rotor onto the console. Huh. The artificial horizon lever is looking a little worse for wear. _Should do something about that._

“Come on, then.” He looks up to see Donna smiling at him. She’s got an era of cool confidence that suits her (he’s incredibly confused as to where it came from, since she’s a mix of _him_ and _her_ and he’s pretty sure they spent most of their time together shouting and running around in a panic).

He’s uneasy, somehow, though he can’t remember why. Rather, won’t remember why. There’s a reason he’s blocked out the next part. He hates goodbyes, and he knows this one will be unusually painful. It looms overhead, blocking out suns with its shadow, but he’s too apprehensive to twist around and find out the shape of the monster’s face. Still, Donna’s waiting for him, so he takes her hand and they leave together. _Leda, Himalia, Lysithea, Elara._

When they step out, the cold steals the air from his lungs. He stands there for a moment, gasping like a fish in the wind. Has it always been this cold? It’s too bright. He squints against the light of the flat white sky as his eyes try to adjust. _Right, hands for that_. He lets go of Donna’s warm hand to shield his vision. No one else seems to mind the sudden change, so he plows on after the humans. Everything’s fine. They’ve gone maybe ten meters away, heading towards who-knows-what. No one else is here. It’s just an empty beach. He’s relieved without knowing why. He turns to Rose, but she’s not looking at him. She’s looking past him. He turns around _._ Standing between the TARDIS and him is his double.

…

It was the third time Rose had stood on this horrible, windy beach, and she couldn’t wait to get off of it. _The sooner I get this over with, the better._ She followed her mum out of the TARDIS, making joking bets she wouldn’t be able to pay back, but only one of the Doctors followed her out. The other stopped halfway, lingering by the TARDIS. Rose was immediately on edge. _Something’s not right_.

“You’re back home.” Something about the way he said it sank a cold, heavy weight in Rose’s stomach.

As if unfazed by any tension, Donna smiled and started explaining the science in her newfound Doctor-esque manner. “It's dimensional retroclosure. The walls between universes are healing up again. See, I really get that stuff now.” She smiled and stopped walking to stand next to the Doctor closest to the TARDIS, the one who had just spoken.

But despite Donna’s casual tone, Rose felt a horrible awareness growing inside of her. _He’s going to do it again_. The water drew back over the bare sand; she felt rooted to the unstable ground.

“No.”

“It has to be this way. We did it! We saved the universe. But it’s not enough to just save people, Rose.”

All she could do was shake her head mutely. _This can’t be happening_.

“You saw what he did. He destroyed the Daleks. He committed genocide. He's too dangerous to be left on his own.”

The other Doctor cut in, sparing her. “You _made_ me,” he said in an unexpectedly fierce tone. Something snapped inside of her.

“Exactly. You were born in battle, full of blood and anger and revenge. Remind you of someone?” It was like he’d forgotten who he was talking to. Like he’d rehearsed this and she was just catching the performance. “That's me, when we first met. And you made me better. Now you can do the same for him.” He nodded at the other man, who didn’t move a muscle as a wave drew closer.

Her blood set to burning. She was not going to just stand here again and wait for another person to _manage_ her against her will.

“You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?" Her hands balled into fists. "You think, after all this time, after everything _I_ did to find you, you’re just going to waltz right out and abandon me here like it’s nothing.”

“Rose, it’s not like that—”

“No!” she found herself shouting. “Don’t _give_ me that! And no, don’t say that’s not what you’re doing, because that’s—that’s a flat-out lie, that’s what it is.” She stabbed her finger at him. “You’re just about to make some horrible excuse and leave me standin’ here, an’ we didn’t even talk about it, or anything, you’re just going to _assume_ you know what’s best for me.” Hot tears wet her face. 

“Rose, just listen to me—"

“You can’t!” She cut him off. “You are not going to just zip out, and leave—I won’t let you.” His hair was whipping around his face in the wind. She could tell he was doing his damnedest to stay stone-faced. “You don’t get to say what’s best for me. That’s not how it works anymore.” She stomped towards him, but the sand underneath swallowed up the impact; she had to slow down to keep her footing. “That’s not even remotely okay.”

“Because you—you have _no_ idea what it’s like here. You just thought—” she bit her lip and swiped at the cold tears dripping off her jawbone. “You just stuck me here in this stupid crumbling gingerbread house. 'Oh, she’s fine, everything’s fine. That’s just Rose, great for the shop or a couple of larks. Bit feisty, but docile wherever you put her.’”

That did it. His mask started cracking. “ _Stop it_. Stop putting words in my mouth. I saved you, I did everything I could to keep you safe.”

“Well maybe there’s more to life than **_safe_** , Doctor! Did you think—” her voice broke—“Did you think I’d just forget that?”

“Rose, please, listen to me. You have to listen. I’m not trying to take _any_ of that away! Please, you're upset. You're not thinking straight. You have to hear me out.”

“And why should I?” Someone touched her hand. Rose almost drew back, startled. It was the new Doctor. He’d reached out and taken her hand.

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s trying to offer you a gift. Something you couldn’t have before,” Donna said. She looked between the three of them warmly. Rose could tell it was sincere, but she wasn’t in the mood to be mollified. “Go on, tell her,” she said, looking at the new Doctor. Rose turned to face him, glaring at him through her tears.

Instead of giving whatever answer Donna expected of him, the Doctor’s face twisted in pure shock. His jaw went slack, and his eyes started darting between Donna, Rose, and the TARDIS. His agitation was visible. Even though he didn’t move, no one could have mistaken it for stillness; every muscle seemed to be trembling, and despite her anger, Rose was suddenly very concerned.

“Doctor?”

…

No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

Bad enough to realize what was happening. Bad enough to relive _that_ goodbye. Bad enough to remember turning away and running off like everything was _fine_ , just fine.

But—but—

Donna, she’s waiting for him to answer and he knows the words, he _remembers_ the words he’s supposed to say, except he’s never said them at all. He can see the soppy, shining hope in her eyes as she waits like he’s about to give Rose a Christmas present, but how can he, because he knows, he knows, he knows—and Donna—

_Donna_ —

It’s happening again. It’s all happening again. 

_Part human, part Time Lord. And I got the best bit of the Doctor: **I got his mind**._

Everything starts crashing in. Waves, water, memories. He can’t breathe. Water. Water everywhere.

 _I think you need someone to stop you_.

_How about that? I **win**. _

_There's no one to stop you. This is wrong, Doctor. I don't care who you are._

_But this is fantastic, isn't it? The Time Lords restored._

_Never forget, Doctor, you did this. I name you Destroyer of the Worlds!_

_No really, just leave me. I'm an old man, Doctor. I've had my time._

_You all right, mate?_

Hasn’t he done enough _right_ for the universe? After all the mercy he’s offered, after every time he’s turned down the forbidden fruit, gone on alone in his immortality? 

_Does it need saying?_

_There's never been a human Time Lord metacrisis before now. And you know why._

_We're the only two left. There's no one else. Regenerate!_

Why not change the past?

_For a long time now, I thought I was just a survivor, but I'm not. I'm the winner._

_I could do so much more. So much more!_

_I said, Rose Tyler._

No. He can’t, _Rassilon_ , he’s come so close. So very, very close. Changing the rules: it’s a trap.

_binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary_

_No. Oh my god. I can't go back. Don't make me go back._

_I don’t want to go._

_No, no, no. Please. Please. No. No.”_

But Donna—

She’s left the ball in his court, and that means whatever happens next will be his fault. Everything will happen again, over and over and over again and he’s the one trapped inside the catch-22. Kill them or let them die. And he'll be the one perpetuating it.

One heart is thump, thump, thumping inside of him. Wet shoes, wet suit, cold, cold, freezing, burning up inside. His head, it hurts, it burns, it’s pounding. Donna’s hot, sticky skin under his fingertips. Snow on his skin. Rose, he almost— _he can’t control it and it’s taking him, **Rassilon** it’s taking him and he can’t push it back and it’s too strong to shove away, and—_

Rose. He has to tell her what he has to offer. That he’s _like_ her now. That he loves her. Say the words and he can saunter off with her and pretend everything that happened was some horrible nightmare. No more goodbyes. Forget being the ‘Last of the Time Lords.’ Complete the circle and this all goes away.

Except isn’t that what he’s been telling himself this whole time?

Before he even realizes he’s made a decision, he squeezes Rose’s hand like he’s done so many times before when he can’t put into words how much she means to him, and all the things he’s sorry for, and he lets go. 

…

“Woah, there, Spaceman. I’m not going anywhere. There, there. It’s all right, Doctor.” Donna looked mildly startled as the Doctor threw himself around her, but continued to stroke the Doctor’s back. She looked back at Rose. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Probably just had a long day.”

Rose nodded slowly, confusion disarming some of her anger. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, think so. I mean, he was just born this morning. Poor sap’s probably just hormonal,” Donna said, raising her eyebrows and winking.

“I think, what Donna was trying to get him to say—” Rose whirled around at the other Doctor. He was watching the three of them awkwardly.

“What, Doctor? What are you trying to say? Because she wasn’t just talking about him.”

“What she— _I_ am trying to say is that he’s part human. He—you and him—you’re more…compatible, Rose. I can’t—

“He can give you what I never could. You could have a life with him. Grow old together. Settle down, give your mum some grandkids. He’s—he’s right for you, Rose.”

“Is that what you think?” Rose asked softly.

“What?”

“Is that what you think I want, Doctor?”

“Is it?” he asked, meeting her eyes. For just a moment, his mask dropped completely, and she could see the naked vulnerability in his eyes. He looked terrified.

“I promised you forever, once. Did you think I’d forget?”

“Never.” His voice had dropped to match hers.

“Doctor, I loved you. I—I _love_ you.” Rose choked down the lump in her throat. “And I understand if—if you don’t want me travelling with you anymore. When we leave this place behind, you don’t have to take me along with you. You don’t owe me anything for old time’s sake. That’s not fair to you.”

“Rose, I would never—”

“But Doctor, you can’t—I _won’t_ let you make this choice for me.”

He looked stricken.

“Rose, this is your home, your _family_ you’re talking about leaving behind.” Now he was the one waving his arms agitatedly.

She laughed without a trace of humor. “D’you think I don’t know that?” The wind ruffled his hair, so unlike that last day on this beach. “Do you think I haven’t thought about this _every day_ for years? I’m not nineteen anymore. I’m not infatuated, or, or, throwing a tantrum, or—I dunno—rebelling. I’ve been here long enough to know there’s not a life for me here if I stay.” Next to them, Donna was silent. The other Doctor was still holding on to her.

“But Rose, it’ll be different now,” the Doctor pleaded. “You, him, traveling the world. The slow path, together. Mutt and Jeff, Shiver and Shake, the old team! You’ll have _adventures!_ ”

Rose shook her head. “It’s not _about_ the adventures. Not anymore. I don’t need the traveling or the sightseeing, Doctor, I just—I can’t go back. This isn’t my home. Never has been, never will be. I’ve been here long enough to figure that out for myself.” Rose looked at him, hesitating. “And…I’ll never be able to sleep at night knowing _you’re_ off out there.”

The Doctor made a noise at the back of his throat and shoved a hand through his hair. “What does that even _mean_ , Rose?” His voice grew louder and angrier as he continued. “You want to go back, except not with me, and you’re leaving your family, but this isn’t your home? I don’t understand,” he growled.

Looking at him, Rose could see the man who’d shouted down a man in his own home coronation day, the man who’d raged at nurses for infecting the innocent, the same man who’d never let a man’s wealth or power spare them his indignation.

“You scare me sometimes,” Rose admitted in a low voice. He froze like she’d slapped him. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to stick by your side.” She tried in vain to brush her hair out of her face. Her throat was tight. “But sometimes I’m scared of what you’ll do when you’re alone.”

“ _Rose_ ,” he said in a hush, unable to finish the sentence. He sounded desperate.

“You burned up a star, Doctor. You said it was to say goodbye, and I loved you for it—” damned if she was going to hide her feelings, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say if he felt the same way— “But there’s a star missing in the sky! It’s not because of anything Davros ever did.” She shook her head, looking up at the sky to try and blink back tears.

“I wondered, for years, if it was you up there. If you were the reason why.” She looked back at him. “I was too scared to say it out loud," she admitted. "You’re the Doctor! You’re a hero, not a villain. You save the day! But every day, every star that disappeared—I always wondered if it was you. Because when you’re hurt and angry, it’s like you can’t hold yourself back.” 

“Rose, I—” Unable to finish the sentence, he just looked at her pleadingly.

“That’s what it’s like out here. Watching. Waiting. Because I know, I just _know_ , one of these days disaster’s gonna strike, and you’ll be in the thick of it. For all I know, _you_ made it happen.” She stared at him. “Doesn’t matter that you’re a universe away. It’ll be just like today, except I’ll be trapped inside this damn fishbowl with my hands tied. Waiting for things to fall apart. And you’ll be out there alone.

“It’s—it’s not even your fault, Doctor—I’m not trying to say that.” She looked over at where Donna was whispering soothingly in the other Doctor’s ear. “’S just like you’re a magnet for trouble, or something. But…” she drew a bracing breath, “…I can’t sleep at night knowing you might be out there alone. All hurting, and angry.” _There_. She’d said it. Rose swallowed and waited for the Doctor to respond.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at Rose as if he could find an answer written on her face. He looked over at Donna, and back at Rose, and something _clicked_ in his expression.

“Rose, that’s how I feel about _him_.”

Rose looked over at the Doctor’s double, still trembling in Donna’s arms.

“That man you described, the one who’s vengeful and out-of-control? That’s me. But it’s also him. Rose, I—I _try_ , every day since you met me, I’ve been trying to control this thing inside of me that wants to burn it all down. I didn’t use to care if I survived at all, not if I took them down with me.

“But you made me better. You gave me hope that—that there was something more to life than that.” He looked at the man next to them who was lost in his own world, seemingly oblivious to the way they were discussing his fate. The Doctor shook his head.

“More than anything, that’s him. He was born into that rage and desperation. It’s all he knows. His first day of life and he—he killed an entire _race_ of beings. Murdered them all. He didn’t even think twice about it, natural as breathing.”

He was crying, the Doctor’s double. He was crying into Donna’s neck. His whole body was shaking with sobs. Rose found herself reaching out towards him.

“But it can’t _be_ like that! What does it matter if the Time War is over if all we ever do is think the ends can _possibly_ justify the means?” The Doctor’s eyes were shining, intense but not threatening. “Please, Rose. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t look after him. I _am_ him. I’m not—” The words seemed to choke in his throat.

“I just…want you to be happy,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

Rose looked at the Doctor. His suit and tie were buttoned up as tightly as they were the day he first changed, before he and Rose grew into their comfortable rhythm. The Doctor _was_ different. His hair was shorter, now, and maybe it was just the events of the day showing through, but it was harder to overlook the age in his eyes. She’d thought he mostly left that behind when he regenerated, but she could see it again. The exhaustion.

It was like looking into a mirror.

Rose stood in silence. The wind whistled in between them, and she could see the expanse of white sky stretching out above them. It was cold. She put her hands in her pockets and brushed up against something unexpected: cardstock, carefully enveloped in plastic. The photograph. The one of Tony and Jackie and even Pete, laughing over cake. She looked over at her mum, who hadn’t so much as opened her mouth during the whole confrontation. Jackie was looking away, now, which was just about the most considerate thing she could have done.

In front of her, Donna held the other Doctor. He had stilled in her arms but hadn’t yet pulled away. Rose turned back towards the original Doctor. He was looking at the sand at his feet. Past the TARDIS, past both Doctors and Donna, lay the wide expanse of ocean. The tide was starting to draw out.

Rose turned away from the ocean and looked inland. Beyond the pale cliffs, there would be a long path to town and an even longer road home. But maybe she was ready to finally stop running.

“Promise me this, Doctor.”

His eyes shot up.

“You have to promise me you won’t travel alone.” His breath hitched. “Please. Stay with Donna, and when she leaves, you have to find someone else. You need someone at your side. Promise me that,” she urged with as much tenderness as she could spare. A clean break. That was what they both deserved. He shut his mouth and nodded at her, expression unreadable.

“I will.”

Behind him, the TARDIS waited, but now that the final goodbye had finally arrived, Rose found herself wishing she could stretch out the moments in-between forever. There were so many things she couldn’t bring herself to say.

“Right, so you’ll try not to get lost by tonight, yeah?” she said carelessly, jokingly. _I’ll miss you._

“Yeah,” he said with a tight smile, and she couldn’t help but wonder, hope, even, if he wasn’t also delaying the inevitable. That he felt the same way she did.

“Cos you know it’s rubbish spending the night in a jail cell.” _Will you remember me?_

“Yeah.”

Rose’s chest tightened. Her resolve to let go wavered. She took a half step forward, a question at the tip of her tongue—

“Doctor?”

—and stopped. His jaw was clenched and his expression guarded, but the look in his eyes was as open and exposed as the sky.

_Last time, you said my name, but you never finished your sentence. How was it going to end?_

It wasn’t fair to make him say it, not anymore.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.” She smiled at him, even though the tightness in her chest twinged. “Just take care of yourself.” She walked toward him and hugged him, briefly, casually. He barely moved to hug her back, but it was okay. She let go and looked at him briefly before standing on tiptoe to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“And listen to the TARDIS once in a while, alright?” She smiled at him one last time and walked over to where Donna was standing with the other Doctor. He had finally unglued himself from her, but he looked more than a little lost. He looked at her shoes as she approached, slowly moving his gaze upward but averting his eyes before he got to her face.

“Hang on, got one last thing,” Donna said. She looted around her pockets and glanced up. “Hey, you, don’t just stand there like a limpet. Get me something to write with.” The other Doctor seemed startled out of the fog, and dug around in his jacket pockets, eventually producing a pad of yellow sticky notes, a wax pencil, and the most beaten-up ballpoint Rose had seen since year seven. He held them out, and Donna snagged the pad and the pencil, giving the ballpoint the side-eye.

Balancing it on her knee, Donna scribbled something on the pad, fished something out of her pocket, and slid her hand into the Doctor’s jacket pocket, dropping whatever it was inside.

“Don’t lose that, yeah?” The Doctor nodded mutely. “Oh, come here you big lump.” Donna reached over and gave him another hug, and he eventually squeezed her back. When they finished, Rose gave Donna her own hug, and took the other Doctor by the hand.

“You two watch yourselves, alright?” Donna said, smiling. “Because I won’t be around to clean up any messes.” Rose snorted and squeezed the Doctor’s hand.

“We will.”

Rose ignored Donna as she walked away towards the TARDIS and the universe she was born in. Instead, Rose stepped in front of the Doctor and took his other hand in hers. He was still looking down at the sand.

“Doctor?”

Slowly, his head lifted until he was looking at her in the eyes. He looked at her with nervous, evasive eyes. _Is he scared of me? Of being alone with me?_ Rose bit her lip. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew nothing about the thoughts running through his head, what he remembered, or what sort of man he was. Back on the TARDIS, everything was like a strange dream, but now, holding his hands in hers, she couldn’t ignore the reality of the situation.

The Doctor had said he was him, and Rose _wanted_ to believe that more than anything else. But, looking into his wild eyes, she had to know.

“Doctor,” she said, speaking softly as if to a caged animal. He blinked.

“Hello,” he finally answered, his voice hoarse.

“Hello,” Rose said, halfway between laughing and crying. “Looks like it’s you and me now,” she said, not glancing back as the TARDIS doors creaked closed behind them.

“Yeah,” he said, letting go of one of her hands to rub at his eyes. When he looked back, he gave her a watery grin. Rose’s heart seized.

The question she hadn’t asked. She _had_ to know.

“Doctor, when you left me here before. You were going to say something.” He stared back at her with wide eyes. She braced herself and plowed on, avoiding his eyes. “You said my name, but you never finished the sentence.” Hot tears were threatening to spill over. She looked up at him. “Doctor, _how was that sentence going to end?_ ” she asked in a whisper.

He reached up and touched her cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

“I said, Rose Tyler.” He leaned over and hesitated next to her ear. She could feel his warm breath on her neck. She waited, breathless. Her heart was flipping over and over in her chest.

“ _I love you_.”

A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh wrenched out of her throat and she threw her arms around him. Almost simultaneously, he wrapped his own arms around her. They embraced like never before, like the way they should have were it not for that stinking Dalek.

And _oh_ , he was warm in the way the Doctor had never been before, and as he held her in his arms, for the first time in she’d forgotten how long, she felt safe.

This was what home felt like.

For what felt both eternal and far too short, he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him from being swept out to sea, and she clung to him because she _knew_ he was the only thing keeping her together right now. Hot tears soaked his lapels, and Rose registered that she was probably getting snot all over his suit, but she didn’t even care—she was laughing and bawling and hiccupping in sheer relief. The dark mustiness of smoke still lingered in his hair and on his skin. The constant tension in her chest, that washer-wrung tightness that she’d never been able to fully escape, eased as he squeezed her close. She never wanted to let go of him.

Distantly, she heard that awful, wonderful sound of the TARDIS dematerialization sequence, and even though she knew this was the last time she would ever hear it, buried as she was in the Doctor’s arms, Rose didn’t break apart to watch it leave.

But the Doctor did.

With a jarring shock, she felt him stiffen and pull away as the TARDIS left without him. Wind swept through the newly formed breach between them; Rose shivered. The dismay on his face sent a sharp pang through her. Tears were welling in his eyes. Dimly, she realized that she didn’t think she’d ever seen him cry before today. _He’s losing everything_.

But before she could even think of what to say, he sniffed and blinked back his tears as if mortified. Rose promptly looked down at his hand, giving him space to compose himself. His fingers were so delicate. She reached for his hand, tentatively, and he almost immediately entwined his long, cold fingers with hers.

“I’m fine,” he said thickly, rubbing at the back of his neck and not quite looking at her. Suppressing the growing weight of dread in her gut, Rose tried to put all of the reassurance and comfort she could into a smile. He smiled back. There was still something forlorn about his smile, but she could practically see him shoving it away and locking it behind those never-ending doors in his mind. Something cold gripped Rose’s heart, and she tried not to panic. _He’s doing it again, he’s ashamed of what he said to me, he’s retreating._

But she remembered the way he had held her, and the way he had squeezed her hand almost apologetically before hugging Donna. Saying goodbye to Donna, she realized. **_Stop._** _He said he loves you, and you’re going to give him the benefit of believing he meant it._ She ignored the alarm bells in her head and stepped closer once more.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Rose said, looking into his eyes. The Doctor looked back. His wet eyelashes had clumped together. They were shiny. His eyes were fathomless. Her heart sped up. Without breaking eye contact, she let go of his hand and reached up to touch his soft, soft hair. She leaned closer, and he didn’t move away. She could feel his breath on the cold air. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her cheeks burned, and she shivered. Rose closed her eyes and ever-so-slowly, she boldly, hesitatingly, pressed her lips to his.

For a terrifying heartbeat, he didn’t respond.

Then, in a rush of electricity, he kissed her back. Rose melted. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush in her ears. His lips were so soft and gentle. Something warm and deliciously excited bloomed in her. She pulled back to breathe and they kissed again immediately, nuzzling noses and nipping at each other’s lips fervently. She wrapped her other arm around him held him close. This felt _right_. A shiver sent tingles running through her and suddenly this was _not enough._ She seized him and wrested his head closer towards hers. Blood roared in her ears as she kissed him more fiercely. His whip-strong arms dug into her as he held her tight enough to steal her breath away. If he held her tight enough, maybe she could ignore that years-long ache in her chest.

Her fingers snarled in his hair, and she almost wondered if she was hurting him, except she could feel his own hand buried _her_ hair and the only thought in her head was how much she wanted him. He tugged at her lip, and any remaining thoughts shut up and went packing in a blinding wave of pleasure. Her knees locked, bracing her as she shifted in the sand. Oh, she _needed_ this.

Rose pulled away with a gasp, panting, but only got in a few lungfuls before the Doctor was back, pressing his lips on hers with ferocious intensity. Warmth burned its way through her chest, radiating outward to the tips of her toes. She gripped his coat, pulling him closer as the wind whipped around. She _couldn’t_ let him go. The Doctor held her so tight it ached, except it had been _so_ long since anyone had held her like they wanted her, and she never wanted him to let go again.

Rose matched his desperation with her own insistent advances, and she could feel tears on her face that had nothing to do with fear or frustration. She tried to pour her need and love and relief into the kiss. It couldn’t bear saying.

When he brushed against the tracker under her jacket, she didn’t flinch away. Instead, she just pressed herself closer, feeling his warmth around her. Her problems were still out there, but she didn’t have to go at them _alone_ anymore.

They kissed until Rose almost forgot they were two bodies, two separate hearts in two separate ribcages. When their passion bled into something like weariness, they stood there in each other’s arms, holding each other against the cold. Rose felt both empty and full at the same time, like she’d been drained dry and refilled with something warm. It was easier to breathe than it had been in years. She snaked her arms under his armpits, clinging to his shoulders. The Doctor held her close around the shoulders in quiet understanding.

Rose rested her chin on the Doctor’s shoulder, staring off mutely into the distant horizon. Silence hung around them. Rose waited, both afraid of the silence and afraid to break it. Eventually, she opened her mouth.

“So what happens next, Doctor?” she whispered.

…

Holding Rose Tyler in his arms and _kissing_ her was…not even on his radar as a _possibility._ The universe wasn’t the obliging sort, and that…well. Rose Tyler was firmly in the box of Dangerous Things to Dream About.

And…he had _told_ her. And she hadn’t run away, hadn’t turned towards the TARDIS looking for the things he couldn’t provide her, hadn’t gone with the other man. His younger, less broken self. The man who right now was…

Killing his best friend for his own sanity.

He swallowed.

He drew Rose closer to him and buried his nose in her hair. She smelled different than she used to. No more artificial strawberries. Instead, along with the smell of sweat and sebum and everything that was expected from a human after a hours-long, high-stress escapade (not to mention _kissing_ him), she smelled faintly of vanilla. She was so warm.

Far away, he could see cliffs towering, hemming them in along the exposed shoreline. He couldn’t see a way up. Funny, last time he’d been here, he’d been too blinkered to notice. He’d been…preoccupied. He felt a lump rising in his throat, making it painful to swallow. Rose was here in his arms, and that was _in the past_. It’d already taken its pound of flesh. So why did old wounds keep reopening?

Stupid to ask. He already knew the answer.

He deserved it.

Rose squeezed him a little tighter, not saying a word. Pressed up against him as she was, he could feel the small, steady beat of her heart at against his chest. It was like a candle flame, so small and fragile, just a blazing pinprick against the night. Like a star you could hold in your hand. But, figuratively speaking, that’s what Rose was to him. A candle to lead him out of the dark.

She made a little noise in the back of her throat, and he started stroking her hair. When she’d asked him the question, before his _idiot_ self scarpered off, she’d looked downright distressed. She’d hid it well, which spoke of practice, the kind of practice Rose Tyler didn’t deserve to have undergone, not now nor ever. Even now, the cold weight of guilt was sinking heavier than a meteorite in the pit of his stomach. He’d tried to hold himself together for her. She didn’t deserve to see all of his guilt written raw on his face, like it was her job to take it away. _That_ was his burden to bear.

But even in his agitation, he’d noticed the halting way she’d spoken to her, the hesitation before she’d asked him a question _she deserved_ an answer to. A question he’d never had the decency to answer before. Like she was scared he would hurt her. Like she was the moth at the candle, and he was going to burn her up.

 _Rassilon_ , what had he done to her?

At that exact moment, Rose shifted in his arms and settled her chin on his shoulder again. She hadn’t said a word since they’d finished kissing. He stopped stroking her hair and leaned his head to rest on hers.

“So what happens next, Doctor?” Rose whispered in a voice soft enough that the wind would have stolen it away if she hadn’t been right next to his ear. His hearts—heart—constricted. There was something incredibly vulnerable about the question. Like she was powerless and terrified to admit it.

Rose Tyler shouldn’t have to feel that. 

“Oh, I dunno. Ride the Nile, avoid a hippopotamus. Learn to scuba-dive in a Welsh quarry? I’ve heard there’s buses. Isn’t that brilliant, Rose, actual buses, the two-story type, sunk in the water!” He peered down at her and grinned. “Go to the Rio Frio and see how many crayfish we can each catch? Oh, that’s not even fair, I’d be brilliant at catching crawdads.”

Rose laughed weakly. It was a start. “Why, cos they mistake your fingers for worms?”

“Oi, I’ll have you know that these are _beautiful_ —” Rose smirked. That was more like it. “You know what, you’re right. In fact, I think I have _perfect_ fingers to act as crawdad bait. I’ll just stick ‘em in the water and wriggle them around, and before you know it, I’ll have a whole passel strung up on my fingers.” He wriggled his fingers as a demonstration, and when she smiled, he dove in to tickle her.

“I’ll fill—” she let out a gasp of laugher— “an entire _bucket_ —” she wriggled in his grip “before you’ve even got five, just you wait!” With a squeal, she twisted out of his arms and he held his hands up, palms open, in a peace offering. She sauntered back towards him.

“Except...” she said with a smirk, then before he could blink, she darted towards him, getting her fingers in the _very_ sensitive place underneath his arms.

And _no,_ what was she— _how_ did she _even **know** _about that spot!

He writhed as pleasurable tingles sparked across his ribs—

 **_That_ ** _isn’t even fair!_

—he was going to _burst—_

Just when he thought his vision was going to short out for good, she let up, allowing him to catch his breath. As soon as he collected himself, the Doctor twirled her around so her back was to his chest and her arms were safely crossed in front of her. He looked down and gave her a dopey grin. **_Oh_** , that felt good. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he felt calm and sort of, well, sated.

“’Cept what?” he said, still grinning.

“They’ll probably hurt something awful,” she said, pulling his arm in front of her and flipping his hand over. The sensitive nerve endings lit up as she stroked his palm. Rose looked back at him. “You, with a whole passel dangling from your fingers.”

“Guess you’ll just have to kiss them better for me, Rose Tyler,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She rolled her eyes but grinned back at him. He leaned over and tried to kiss her jaw but missed and planted one on her ear instead. She giggled, but a snort from further off broke his concentration. He looked up. Jackie Tyler was standing about four meters away and was clearly struggling to keep a straight face. The Doctor felt his cheeks start to burn.

“Oi, don’t mind me,” Jackie said, making a shooing motion. “Hasn’t stopped you yet.”

Of all the things that had happened to him, surely _this_ was the most mortifying.

“Lay off, Mum! ‘S not like you and Pete are any better!”

Jackie rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath with a knowing smirk. The Doctor couldn’t quite catch all of what she said to herself next, but caught the flavor of her words just fine, including choice phrases including but not limited “face sucking” “alien bits” and “cradle robber.”

“Oh, c’mere, you,” Rose said reaching up and over his head and sinking her fingers in his hair. Blimey, but that felt nice. She craned her head up at him. “I think we’re doing just fine.” He beamed down at her. The way she smiled back at him made him want to wriggle in happiness all over again.

Jackie, though…always there to throw a spanner in things. He glanced back at where she was standing.

“Reckon your mum’s right, though. Think maybe we ought to get going.”

“Do we have to?”

He pondered that for a second. “As much as I would like to say no, staying here until the tide comes back sounds awfully cold and windy, and I don’t know how to get to London from here.”

She was quiet for a moment. Rose's hand slid out of his hair as she straightened up and stared off into the distance. When he began to worry that he’d gone and said the wrong thing again, she finally answered.

“Suppose you’re right. The beach is nice and all, but I don’t fancy spending the night.”

“What, no camping gear?” he said, knuckling her ribs. She smiled but pulled away.

“Something like that.” She stepped away, tugging at her jacket and smoothing her hair out of her face. Her makeup hadn’t run at all. If it weren’t for the tear tracks and the slightly reddened tinge to her eyes, he would barely know she’d been crying.

“Well?”

He blinked and realized she was holding her hand out to him. He took it and followed her. Jackie wasn’t that far off, and it looked like she’d trekked around since stepping out of the TARDIS; she was on the opposite side now. Huh, he hadn’t noticed that _at all_. She looked back at them and gave him a _look_. What, like it was his fault they were taking so long?

What if she had _pictures?_

Biting back a groan, he focused on walking so as to avoid adding to the sand in his trainers, a mostly futile endeavor. And then he stopped.

Rose’s hand almost tugged out of his before she stopped and turned back.

There, in the damp sand, was a deep, square-shaped imprint. The last trace of the TARDIS he’d ever see. And there, a little rivulet of clear water carved canyons in the sand, breaking the outline down. He swallowed. She was gone.

And _Rassilon_ , he’d be alone with the thoughts in his head for _every single day_ until this brittle body finally crumbled. He choked.

Something warm wrapped under his arms, squeezing away the suffocating feeling.

“Old girl really is brilliant, isn’t she?”

He nodded, unable to speak. Rose didn’t let go even though Jackie must have her arms on her hips in impatience. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

The Doctor felt a hand in his hair. Rose was stroking him, scritching at his scalp and threading her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, shutting out the outline of the TARDIS. _Inhale, exhale._ _Respiratory bypass hasn’t kicked in_ —He’s lost it, hasn’t he? It's gone, he’s lost it. The choking feeling is back and he can’t get enough air, he can’t breathe—

He can feel Rose’s nails on his skin. He forces himself to take slower breaths. He sucks in enough air that it hurts, and hangs onto it until a voice in his head screams _too long, too long, more air—_

And repeats the process, until bit by agonizing bit, his breathing rate goes back to normal. He realizes his hands have gone numb, but the rest of him is still warm.

Rose is still here.

Her hand contracted one last time and dropped from his hair.

“What do you say we get something warm to eat? God, I’m freezing.”

He choked out a laugh and nodded. A hollow pang in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d emptied his vacant stomach in the closet, and had had nothing but smoke inhalation before that.

“Is this how you humans feel all the time? I don’t how you manage.”

“I dunno, s’not all bad, isn’t it? Plenty of good stuff, too,” she said, nuzzling his nose. He laughed more genuinely and savored the warmth rising to his cheeks. Rose gave him a quick peck and trailed her hands down his arms as she pulled back, lingering for a moment on his hands. Still freezing.

Rose looked him up and down and reached out to smooth his lapels. He looked down his nose at her hands. (He must have looked quite a fright what with… well). Once she was satisfied patting him down, she tugged at the hem of his jacket, pulling it straight.

“Hang on,” she said, her brow suddenly furrowing in concentration. She slid her hand into one of his pockets. It was rather…strange, feeling someone _else_ in his extradimensional pockets. He barely even felt her hand as she continued digging. “Didn’t Donna….”

That sent a chilling strike into his newfound calm, but he shoved it down quickly enough.

“Aha!” Rose exclaimed, pulling out a scrawled sticky note and something white-ish. “What’s this, then?” she said, holding up the note in her other hand. Circular Gallifreyan swirled around the note. He felt a lump rise in his throat again. The Doctor-Donna. She’d taken to him better than a fish in water. 

“What’s it say?”

He shook off his thoughts and focused on the note Rose was holding tightly in her hand. He took it from her. The lines were a little sloppy, no doubt owing to the fact that Donna had had to prop it against her leg on a sandy, windy beach to write. _What? **No**_ …

He shot up and fixed his eyes on Rose _. Surely they wouldn’t have_ …

“What, Doctor?”

“What…what’ve you got in your hand, Rose?” he stammered. _It couldn’t be_ …

She opened her hand. There, nestled in her tough hand, was a bit of coral. He stood there in utter shock. Rose looked back, concerned, and gave him a verbal nudge.

“What’s that note say, Doctor?”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d even processed what he was saying.

“Try shatterfrying the plasmic shell and modifying the dimensional stabilizer to a foldback harmonic of 36.3. You should accelerate growth by the power of 59.”

Rose looked at him with a look of increasingly amused bewilderment.

“And the translation for that is…”

His throat closed up, and he gulped, looking up at her and blinking rapidly.

“… _It means we can raise our very own baby TARDIS_ ,” he choked out. Rose’s hand closed rapidly around the precious coral. She covered her mouth with the other hand. Her eyes were round as moons. She seemed at loss for what to say. Eventually, she reverently placed it back into his pocket.

He looked down at the slowly eroding outline of the TARDIS and back up at Rose. He’d squandered so much time wishing he could turn back time and cursing the stability of the universe for tying his hands.

The last time he’d stood on this beach with her, he’d thought he was giving her a clean slate-version of him, one with only a day’s worth of atrocities on his hand instead of millennia. Even now, he could feel the burden of his history gnawing at the edge of his consciousness, just waiting to break into his thoughts again.

But standing here with a TARDIS in embryo, wearing in a borrowed suit and holding her calloused hands, he realized that maybe he didn’t need a do-over. Maybe having each other again was enough for a new start. 

He took Rose by the hand and started walking.

* * *

"...The gaps I mean,  
No one has seen them made or heard them made,  
But at spring mending-time we find them there.  
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;  
And on a day we meet to walk the line  
And set the wall between us once again.  
We keep the wall between us as we go.  
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.  
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls  
We have to use a spell to make them balance:  
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'  
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

...

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know  
What I was walling in or walling out,  
And to whom I was like to give offense.  
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,  
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,  
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather  
He said it for himself."

Excerpt from [_Mending Wall_](https://poets.org/poem/mending-wall)

Robert Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's stuck with this story to the end. Seriously, y'all. It means a lot. This project has been so wonderful, and I'm so, so grateful to everyone who's taken the time to let me know they've enjoyed it through kudos and comments. Knowing people are still reading this makes me happy. Special thanks to Transient Thoughts for timely advice on romance!
> 
> Before this story, I hadn't written anything for over a decade due to my own insecurity. Writing was a daunting task, and I had no idea where to start. This story helped me overcome some of my own anxiety, and I can honestly say I've loved the journey. Thanks for taking it with me. 
> 
> Also, just for fun: there's a slightly crack-y epilogue. Enjoy.
> 
> ETA: Okay, just realized I should probably include a brief statement about plans: Writing in semi-weekly installments has been really useful, but I would appreciate having a buffer. The next story will probably be a bit longer, and since I won't be following someone else's episode structure, I might want the flexibility to rearrange chapters at will. In short, I don't know when exactly I'll be back from my break, but I will be writing and will update this as part of a series. Short term estimate, probably a month? Perhaps longer. Also, school might throw a wrench in things, so we shall see how things go. Updates will go on my DW tumblr, Slipping Between the Stars
> 
> Stay tuned for the next installment, roughly titled Growing Where Planted.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were three people on the beach. ;)

* * *

Was that stupid alien git about to break her daughter’s heart again?

Oh—

There he went.

Jackie watched as her daughter snogged the living daylights out of an alien clone _standing right in front of her own mum._ Well, she couldn’t say it wasn’t a long time coming. Jackie hadn’t believed a single red cent of Rose’s nonsense ("We aren't together like _that_ ," my arse), but considering her reaction when he hadn't finished his “I love you” and now all of _this_ , she had to reconsider.

Whoops, that was Rose’s nose. Blimey, that was an amateur move.

Jackie sniggered. The man finally grows a pair and goes straight for the face with all the grace of a gangly teenager. Wait, he was an alien. Did that mean he had more than—

She put _that_ thought out of her mind.

Blimey, they were hungry for each other. Put the bloody zoo tigers to shame, the way they were attacking each other’s faces.

Would he? Would he—yes, he most certainly went there.

And no—

 _Yes_ —

Now _that_ was going to leave a mark.

Jackie wondered how long they were going to keep this up. Well, considering half a decade’s worth of pining and repressed emotion, no wonder they were going at it like a pair of Regency rabbits. Honestly, it would be a wonder if Rose had any lip left tomorrow.

How long were they going to keep at this?

If only she knew the time. Jackie looked down at her wrist in half-hearted hope, but sure enough, she hadn’t worn a watch. Pete usually kept the time well enough for her, anyways.

Well, they weren’t letting up any time soon. Might as well call him and get the going-home process started. Jackie smirked as she imagined what _she_ would be getting tonight. Nothing like a near-death experience to spice things up.

As she waited for Pete to pick up, she looked back over at Rose and the Doctor.

Mmm, he might try moving his hand over a bit. 

Bloody alien.

Pete finally picked up. “Jackie?”

“Here love. And you’ll never guess where— _Norway._ Can you believe it, _Norway_ , all over again! Blasted alien lands us on some God-forsaken beach again. What day is it?”

“Oh God, you’re all right.” Jackie melted a little inside. Even though he wasn’t there to see, Jackie blew Pete a kiss into the air, making sure _not_ to aim at the couple a few meters away. Not that they would be present enough to notice.

“It’s all fine, love. We’re coming home.”

* * *

In youth, it was a way I had  
To do my best to please...

But now I know the things I know,  
And do the things I do;  
And if you do not like me so,  
To hell, my love, with you!

From [ Indian Summer](https://allpoetry.com/poem/8497657-Indian-Summer-by-Dorothy-Parker)

Dorothy Rothschild Parker


End file.
